Star Pyre
by Midnight Chrysanthemum
Summary: Lucia is long dead. Hugo was never born. Fate has been changed... What happens to a destiny deferred?
1. A Single Fallen Star

Disclaimer first: I don't own the rights to Suikoden III. Not the setting, not the canon plot, not the canon characters, nothing. All I have is a copy of the game and my imagination. Beware of plot spoilers, character death, and deviations from game canon thanks to altered situations.

A Single Fallen Star…

The instant she felt the blade puncture her skin, she knew she was going to die.

The woman warrior was extremely displeased with herself: how could she, of all people, have allowed herself to be taken off guard so easily? Her finely tuned senses had picked up no warning. She'd only realized that an enemy had gotten behind her when she felt the sword slice into her back, piercing the finely dyed battle leathers like they were nothing more than wispy layers of silk.

At that point, it was too late.

Time slowed to a crawl as her assassin pushed the blade further into her body. Maybe this was because these were to be the last moments of her life that they seemed to drag on, seconds stretching on forever. Or perhaps her assailant was deliberately dragging his grim task out for his own twisted pleasure.

The woman thrust her head back, mouth gaping open while attempting to form words. She knew it was pointless to scream: even if one of her allies bearing a Flowing Rune was within earshot, the bloody point blossoming in her chest could not be mended even by the strongest healing magic. Instead, she wanted to give voice to a final battle cry, one last mark of her presence on this battlefield that was to become the site of her last earthly endeavors.

But all that issued from her mouth was a trickle of blood.

The blade had breached her chest, its fine silver sheen glistening through the dark crimson of her lifeblood. Indeed, as she looked dimly at the intruding object with dimming lavender eyes, it seemed all the brighter and brilliant for its scarlet covering.

(…Perhaps… It's only right… After all… it has… felled… me… of all…)

Her head fell back, her neck no longer able to support it. As it lolled to one side, long blonde hair hanging limply around it, her assailant smirked. Stepping backward, he lowered his sword, allowing the woman's lifeless corpse to slide off its fatal perch. Standing over the fallen form, he admired how lovely she appeared, now that her leathers were gradually soaking up the rich crimson of her spilled blood. Red, he mused, suited her rich tan skin far better than the far too pristine white she insisting on wearing in life.

He crouched, absently brushing a few stray strands of her platinum blonde hair away from her still face. Her glazed eyes, once a piercing shade of violet that unnerved those she turned her glare upon, stared unseeing up at his face.

Would they have reflected astonishment had they been able to behold the visage of her murderer?

The man liked to think so. Leaning forward, he traced his tongue along the bloody wound in her chest, running it over his lips. He enjoyed the crisp, coppery taste of it, and it seemed all the sweeter because of his foreknowledge of what chaos this single death would wreak.

Leaning forward, he planted a bloody kiss on the corpse's copper-skinned cheek, then stood regarding his handiwork for a few moments more. Then, smirking, the man vanished from the battlefield, leaving the dead woman to be found eventually by others more immediately affected by her loss than himself.

Indeed, if all went well, the effects of her death would not directly effect him until fifteen years had passed. Even then, it would only be in his favor.

After his departure, Lucia continued to stare blankly up at the uncaring sky with sightless, glazed lavender eyes. She would never learn how her departure from this mortal plane would affect events years from now drastically… or that she had been carrying another precious life inside before the blade pierced her back.

* * *

In a corner of the heavens no mortal man could ever hope to behold in all its resplendence, a single star flickered. It shone brilliantly for a moment, then gradually vanished, fading into nothingness. Its majesty had been extinguished too suddenly, too soon…

Not far away, another star, its destiny tied to the burnt out Teni, flickered dangerously. Fate had only recently dictated that the next to be born under its guidance would come from the future bearer of the now-vanished Star of Majesty. But now that she had fallen before her time, the future of the ironically dubbed Tensyo was also in doubt.

However, before the light of the Wounded Star could also be smothered, the gentle guidance of an observer of the heavens surrounded it. She who danced along the destined stars extended her energy, locating a suitable new spirit to fall under Tensyo's supervision.

This was all she could do, however. The watcher was too taxed by this effort to search out another that would have the proper soul required to not only gain the guidance of the Teni Star, but also to restore it to its former brilliance. The Star of Majesty would return on its own, but, sadly, not in time to influence the next conflict in which those whose destinies were dictated by the stars would be gathered.

With a sorrowful sigh, she who watched the stars alone returned to her natural body, her astral form greatly taxed by her tampering with fate. But, then, she had not been the first this day to make a bid to rewrite fate…

A tear slipped from sightless eyes, trickling down a pale cheek as the blind seer Leknaat shook her head slowly. Even she could only wonder what the manipulations that had been forced upon fate would result in.


	2. Destiny Deferred

And fifteen years later, our story really begins. See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

Destiny Deferred

Fully fifteen years had passed since the black day when the Karayan Chief Lucia died fighting in a faraway land for a cause she believed in enough to give her life for. The people had mourned their loss deeply, but time and necessity allowed such wounds to heal. The harsh truth of the matter was, if the Karayan Clan was to survive, they couldn't dwell on matters of the dead and lost.

The Zexen Ironheads were far too greedy to let the Karayans mourn their loss in peace.

Thus, a new Chief had eventually risen to continue protecting their lands, customs, and people. Life went on as it always did, leaving the past and what might have once been behind.

That particular morning, things appeared peaceful and calm enough. The skies were clear azure dotted with fluffy clouds, promising fair weather ahead for the workers, warriors and wanderers who inhabited the village of the Karayan Chief. A warm, playful breeze swept from the southwest, strong enough to stir the long grass of the valleys and fields, yet gentle enough to do nothing more than tickle the tanned skin of most of the inhabitants.

Not all of those in the village shared the bronzed skin of those who lived freely in the vast plains, however. One such individual exited the hut he had been resting inside and looked about, feathers rustling in the playful wind.

"Oh, wonderful," he muttered underneath his breath. "So much for maintaining my appearance before my meeting with the Chief…"

Sergeant Jordi of the Duck Clan shook his head ruefully, thankful at least for the fact that the Karayan Chief wasn't one to judge others solely by appearances. Such petty judgements were more in line with the elitist snobs of the Zexen Council than with the far-roaming tribesmen.

Still, it was a subject of minor annoyance to him. The sergeant took great pride in serving as a representative of his kind, in showing skeptics just how powerful a Duck Clan soldier was. For several years he had been a wanderer, traveling around the vast Grasslands and even, occasionally, into other territories… wherever fate or his latest assignment sent him. He preferred leaving as many favorable impressions as possible behind him.

But here he already knew he was among friends. His travels always seemed to lead him back to the Karayan village, the closest the tribe had to a capital city, mainly because this was where the Chief and some of their strongest warriors resided. Here, the people knew the mallard well, to the point where they generally referred to him as simply 'Sergeant Joe'.

This village was more or less a second home to him… particularly since he hadn't been back to the Duck Clan Village in years…

But now was not a time for such musings, not when he had duties to attend to.

Shaft of his halberd resting comfortably on his shoulder, the sergeant strode purposely toward his destination. The dirt pathways that wound freely through the village loosely connected all the scattered huts of woven grass, leather, dirt and stone. His destination was the largest of those huts, located in the rough center of the settlement.

While walking along, Sergeant Jordi's deep violet eyes wandered, sweeping from side to side as he instinctively cased his surroundings. No sign of any problems greeted his idle gaze… indeed, the village seemed remarkably calm today, a good match for the weather.

Something bumped against his leg, and the mallard looked down to behold a small, lovingly made leather ball resting against his feet. A little girl ran over and tugged on his sleeve. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a spiky ponytail, but several strands had already escaped their bonds and hung freely over her face, drifting lazily in front of huge, expressive amber eyes.

"Excuse me," she said, "can I have my ball back?"

Sergeant Jordi picked up the leather sphere and handed it to her. The girl grabbed it tightly with tiny, chubby hands and smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Sergeant!" she piped, then turned and ran off, holding her treasured toy tightly.

The duck looked after her for a long moment, the slightest shadow briefly passing over his eyes. However, it might have been merely one of the wispy clouds drifting across the sun. Whatever the case, it swiftly passed, and Jordi hurried on his way. It simply wouldn't do to keep the Karayan Chief waiting…

The hut belonging to the tribe's leader was easily one of the largest dwellings in the village. However, its size was more attributed to the fact that the Chief's family also lived there, as well as their… 'pet', who took up lots of space alone.

The true indication of which was the leader's domicile was in the fancy patterns emblazoned on the leather flaps that covered the entrance, the same color scheme echoed in the beadwork and other decorations found scattered around its perimeter. The chief's colors were white, black and purple. White symbolized the Chief's purity of soul and devotion to keeping the people safe; black promised death to enemies of Karaya; purple the Chief's wisdom and leadership.

But Sergeant Jordi would have recognized the chief immediately even if he hadn't been decked out in the patterns symbolizing his standing. It wasn't exactly difficult, seeing as how he was easily the tallest in the village, rising head and shoulders above all others in the clan.

Kayarans were skilled warriors, but they rarely possessed such muscular builds as the Chief did. His imposing stature alone was enough to convince some would-be threats to rethink their plans. But this would hardly have been enough to warrant his becoming leader if he didn't have any wits. Thankfully, his mind was said to be as sharp as his blade.

Currently, however, the Chief was sitting in the grass in front of his hut's entrance, working hard on a little hobby of his.

"Still polishing that piece of junk, Jimba?" Sergeant Jordi asked conversationally while strolling up to the house. "I thought Luce would have made you scrap that thing long ago."

Chief Jimba looked up from his work, greeting the mallard with a welcoming grin. The large, deeply tanned man balanced the chestplate of a suit of armor in his crossed legs. The plate mail had clearly seen better days: battered, beaten and rusty as it was, even with most of the dents carefully fixed, it would probably never serve as anything more than an interesting decoration and conversation piece.

"Well, every man has to have his little hobbies, right?" he laughed. He patted the back of the armor, causing a dull clank. "Besides, it reminds me of old times…"

"Don't tell me you think of the war with the ironheads as 'the good old days'," Jordi asked dryly.

"Did I say that?" Jimba rubbed the back of his head and let out another burst of chuckling. "I meant back before I ended up Chief…"

The sergeant nodded slowly. He could understand why Jimba would look fondly back on the days when he wasn't expected to look out for anything other than himself. While the large man shouldered the burdens of leadership well, it wasn't an enviable position.

"Humph. Seeing that pile of scrap metal just gives me bad memories," a deep, feminine voice muttered from inside the house.

Jimba turned and smiled at the woman who emerged from the hut. Though her tone had been nasty, she returned the smile. Her face, framed by brown hair that matched her coppery skin, was that of a proud matron, kind and stern at the same time.

"I've lost too many sons to men wearing those iron shells," she continued with a shake of her head. "Can't see why you'd want one of those ugly things lying around."

"Well, you can at least take comfort in the fact that the soldier this belonged to is never going to don it again," Jimba assured, patting the suit on the back.

Luce just snorted, "Like even the ironheads would be stupid enough to send out one of their men wearing such a useless piece…"

"You never know," shrugged Sergeant Jordi. "I wouldn't put it past that cost-cutting Zexen Council to pull such a stunt if they thought they might get away with it…"

"Unfortunately, I didn't call you here just so we can trade insults about the ironheads," Jimba told the mallard. The Chief stood up, pressing his hands into his back, adding, "Though it does concern the Zexen Council…"

"Why do I get the feeling I won't like where this is headed?" muttered the drake.

Jimba smiled apologetically. Sergeant Jordi hated it when he smiled like that. It was impossible to hold a grudge against the Karayan with the friendly blue eyes, yet another reason why he made such a fine leader. It was a trait that appeared to run in his family…

"As you probably already know, we recently began peace talks with all of the Grassland clans, as well as the Zexens."

"Yes, I've heard of it. You're going to have a meeting with all of the Clan Chiefs shortly, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right," nodded Jimba. The ever-present sparkle in his laughing blue eyes faded a little while he went on, "However, there's a slight problem."

"What is it?" asked Sergeant Jordi.

"The Zexen Council isn't going to send a proper representative." Jimba sighed, shrugging his large shoulders. "They plan upon sending some of their revered Knights, but won't spare even a single one of their officials."

"I don't like it," Luce interjected her opinion. "Most of the clan leaders are attending, along with some of their finest warriors. The ironheads have more than two hands' count of chiefs, yet they can't even spare a single one for this meeting?"

"That's just the way the ironheads work," snorted the soldier with a shake of his head. "Who can tell what goes on in their heads? I think those heavy helmets they favor cut off circulation to the brain…"

"I'm afraid there may be more to it than that."

Sergeant Jordi's purple eyes narrowed, picking up on the change in the Karayan Chief's tone. Jimba's deep voice had taken on a solemn note, lowering to a quieter pitch than usual. His steel blue eyes swept from side to side, checking for potential unwanted audiences. The Duck Clan soldier stood at attention, knowing he was about to hear something important -- something his chief wouldn't want to repeat.

"Recently," Jimba said in a low whisper, "there have been sightings of strangers near the village. While we haven't been able to catch anyone yet, several hunters have reported catching sight of somebody out of the corner of their eye."

"…Soldiers?" Sergeant Jordi mused under his breath.

"Not sure," Jimba shook his head. "Still, we can't take any chances."

"So where do I fit into this?" asked the mallard.

"I need you to deliver something to Vinay de Zexay for me." Reaching into his finely dyed leathers, the Chief produced a thin leather tube, one the soldier recognized as a message container used to keep important documents safe and sealed while being transported. "This holds a letter for the Zexen Council. Not only does it hold important details about the ceasefire, it also contains a veiled warning. If they're responsible for whatever we've been noticing out there, they should pick up on the fact that we're aware of their movements. If not… they should take it as a general warning not to abuse the current peace talks."

"You believe that the Zexens may be up to something?"

"The ironheads are always up to something," sniffed Luce. "Sometimes I think betrayal and backstabbing is in their blood."

"You may be right," Sergeant Jordi nodded. Looking back at the Karayan Chief, he asked, "So I'm playing delivery boy now, is that right?"

"Right. You have experience dealing with the Zexen ironheads, so I'd feel more comfortable knowing you were handling this for me."

"Of course, Chief Jimba, but…"

The muscular Karayan raised an eyebrow. "But…?"

"Well, you know how close-minded the ironheads can be," Sergeant Jordi shrugged. "They'll probably assume I'm there on behalf of the Duck clan. How will I be able to convince them I'm your representative?"

"That's simple," answered Jimba with a smile. "We'll have one of our warriors accompany you on your trip."

"Who?"

"Aila."

"Aila?" Sergeant Jordi echoed. "No offense intended, of course, but, why her?"

"Aila's proven herself to be a skilled hunter, but she hasn't spent much time outside the village," explained Jimba. "I think this is a good chance for her to see Zexens somewhere other than a battlefield."

"I've already talked to her family, and they've agreed that it's a good idea," Luce added. "She should be near the village gates and ready to go when you are."

"…Fine then," the Duck Clan soldier nodded. Taking the message and tucking it into the folds of his tunic, he said, "I'll just get my things ready and meet her there shortly."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Take care of Aila and yourself while you're dealing with the Zexens."

The mallard nodded again, then saluted the Karayan Chief, turned stiffly on his heel, and headed back toward his hut. He wasn't too thrilled with the thought of having to deal with the Zexen Council, but it only made sense for him to be involved. Karayans as a whole weren't generally good when it came to dealing with the ironheads…

* * *

A teenaged girl clad in supple leather clothing traced patterns in the dust using the end of her archery bow. Her short brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, sweeping down to the base of her neck in large curls, while her green eyes were half closed with annoyance and boredom. 

"I can't believe Chief Jimba wants me to tag along on this little trip to Zexen territory," she groused, resting her chin in her palm.

"I can't believe you're complaining about going!" exclaimed a young Karayan boy crouching beside her. Flopping onto his back, the lad stared up at the sky with huge emerald eyes and added, pouting, "I wish Luce would let me go too, I'd love to see what an ironhead village looks like!"

"Oh, yes, it's going to be such a great experience!" she replied sarcastically. "How could I not look forward to having to head off to some dirty, nature-choking city filled with idiot ironheads that'll call me a freak and barbarian when they're the ones killing the earth!"

"Geez, you don't have to be so sour about it!" the boy complained, sitting up again and staring at the older girl. "If you're gonna be that way about it, why not let me go instead?"

"Wish I could, but Luce'd throw a fit, remember?"

"Yeah…" The boy's lower lip jutted out as he pouted, "It's not fair. When are they gonna start treatin' me like an adult?"

"When you actually are an adult," Sergeant Jordi commented wryly.

The young Karayans turned to see the Duck Clan soldier striding toward them, their Chief close behind him. Both got to their feet, and the boy scrambled up to meet the pair.

"Jimba, can't I go too? Please?" he pleaded, latching onto the man's arm and gazing up at him with pleading green eyes.

"Sorry, Lulu, but Luce'd kill me," chortled Jimba, gently disentangling his arm from the kid's grasp. Ruffling the fiery shock of crimson bangs that crowned the boy's forehead, he suggested, "Why don't you go check on Fubar? I'm sure he'd be happy to see you, especially if you brought food…"

Lulu wiggled away from underneath Jimba's heavy hand and glowered at him.

"Stop treating me like a little kid!" he shouted, then turned and ran off.

"But you are a little kid…" Sergeant Jordi pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders and a sigh.

"Don't worry. He'll get over it soon enough," Jimba assured them, rubbing the back of his head and smiling crookedly.

"Well then," the sergeant shouldered his pack, "Shall we go, Aila?"

"Yeah, sure…"

The young archer adjusted her quiver and checked the small pouches on her belt, ensuring they were tightly secured. Sergeant Jordi waited until she nodded at him, then turned and started up the pathway out of the village. As Aila turned to follow, however, Jimba reached out and gently squeezed her elbow.

"I need you to do another small favor for me, Aila."

"What is it?" she asked, turning back to face him.

"Deliver this to the Lightfellow residence in Vinay de Zexay," he told her, handing over a finely carved wooden talisman. "It holds the spirit of a knight who died bravely in battle. Could you do this for me?"

Aila ran her fingers reverently over the polished mahogany disc, admiring the detailed woodwork. It felt warm to the touch, warmth she doubted originated from simply resting against Jimba's thick chest for some time. Being sensitive to the nature of the spirits, she could tell that the token carried some significance.

"All right," she assented with a nod, carefully tucking the talisman into her tunic. "I'll take good care of it until I can deliver it to the Lightfellow family."

"Good girl," Jimba smiled. "I knew I could count on you. Now, hurry and catch up with the Sergeant, okay?"

Aila nodded again, her curly ponytail bobbing, then turned and dashed up the winding pathway. Jimba watched her retreating figure, sunlight reflecting in his steel blue eyes as his smile became a touch more wistful.

Hopefully, having this little special assignment would allow Aila to deal with the rest of her mission a little better. He understood full well her bias against Zexens, and knew that dealing with the Council was not likely to change her view of the ironheads.

Still, it wasn't simply a distraction. The talisman did mean a lot to the Lightfellow family, and he hoped it might help lay some grieving hearts to rest…


	3. Running into the Knights

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

Running into the Knights

"I can't understand why we have to go through Brass Castle just to get to Vinay de Zexay. Can't we just go around?"

"That would take too much time," Sergeant Jordi replied, looking over his shoulder at the complaining Karayan maiden. "Sure, we could try walking all the way around the fort, but it's faster to just pass through."

Aila huffed, crossing her arms, and looked away even while reluctantly following the Duck Clan warrior toward the walled town's gates. She understood he was right, of course: they'd reach their destination sooner if they cut through the Zexen fortress. That didn't mean she had to like it.

They stepped onto the cobblestone bridge that led up to the entrance. Aila glanced over the side and frowned. The ironheads had built this mess of stone and brick to cross the bluffs and winding river beneath them -- to prove their 'dominance' over natural barriers.

(And just who toiled for months to create this monstrosity? Why, prisoners of war and captured slaves, of course! Like the oh-so-noble ironheads could be bothered putting their own hands to use making something they planned to exploit…)

Her grimace deepened as her gaze traveled up the towering stone structure looming before them. It seemed to be in Zexen nature to abuse and ignore the earth's resources, cutting themselves off from nature whenever possible.

(I bet they're not even grateful for the air they breathe, save for the fact that it's free and they don't have to waste their precious potch on it…)

The sergeant glanced back at the glowering girl and shook his head. He really hoped she wasn't going to stay in such a difficult mood during the whole mission; he was likely to have enough problems dealing with the Council without a cranky teenager along for the ride.

"Come on," he prompted, "Let's get moving."

"Fine," Aila nodded swiftly.

The gates were raised to admit free travel, and Sergeant Jordi and Aila passed underneath them and into the courtyard without a hitch. Brass Castle had a somewhat unusual layout in that the village within its walls was essentially split into two sections. The fort that comprised the bulk of the compound bisected it: it was impossible to get from one side of the town to the other without walking through the heavily fortified center.

The side of town they were currently on boasted a blacksmith hawking his trade, an armorer showing off his wares, and a merchant selling healing items and other knickknacks well suited for travelers. None of this was of particular interest to the messengers, since both had thought to have their weapons sharpened a bit and gathered some medicine before leaving Karaya Village.

Aila stayed close to the sergeant's back and looked around at the townspeople warily. There were a few young ironheads running around, playing a game remarkably similar to the games of tag and catch she remembered from her own childhood. She also noticed a young girl in pigtails wasn't playing with the others, off by herself and banging on a barrel instead. She slowed down for a moment, staring at this odd sight, but quickly noticed that her companion was striding ahead and hurried to catch up.

Sergeant Jordi walked stiffly and swiftly, focusing only on the set of doors leading to the interior of the fortress. Though he wouldn't admit it to Aila for fear of justifying her rotten attitude, the mallard mercenary disliked Brass Castle as well. He found the split city far too confining for his tastes, its high walls blocking the cool, fragrant breezes that swept over the Grassland valleys and fields.

Reaching the massive double doors, Sergeant Jordi quickly ensured that Aila was with him. The archer was standing directly behind him, so he pushed open the gates and led her inside the main bulk of the fortress.

If the atmosphere in the city had been suppressed, inside the building it was positively stifled. Racks of weapons lined the hallway, and heavily armored soldiers made their rounds, disappearing up stairs and through thick wooden doors that barred entrance to any outsiders.

It was clear from the looks the two messengers were getting that they were clearly considered outsiders. Several of the soldiers stared openly at the pair, then turned and exchanged whispers with their fellow Zexens. A few sneered slurs underneath their breath, pointing and snickering.

Under most circumstances, this sort of behavior would be considered horrendously rude, and the sergeant would have immediately pointed this out, teaching the offenders a little respect if necessary. However, things weren't that simple in Brass Castle. The mere fact that they were Grasslanders in Zexen territory was considered justification enough for the natives to treat them differently.

The mallard narrowed his pale violet eyes in silent disapproval, tightening his grip on his halberd's shaft, but made no move to correct their crass behavior. Ironic and backwards as it was, if he tried to point out the error of their nasty treatment, he would be the one considered to be out of line.

Behind him, Aila struggled to follow the mallard's example and ignore the stares and whispered scorn of the ironheads. Unfortunately, being far less experienced with dealing with 'Zexen hospitality' towards their Grasslander guests, not to mention her own bias against the so-called civilized savages, she was having an understandably harder time controlling her urge to educate the crude onlookers.

As they walked by a pair of soldiers standing guard at one of the side doors, he curled his lips up and openly leered at the teenager. His companion very conspicuously leaned over and whispered something into his ear, and both chuckled at whatever he'd said. Feeling her eye twitch slightly, Aila stiffened her posture even more, keeping her cold gaze locked on the doors on the other side of the hallway.

"Ignore them, Aila," Sergeant Jordi hissed under his breath, barely loud enough for the insulted archer to hear.

The mallard quickened his pace just a fraction, not enough that the dull-witted ironheads would be able to pick up on their added haste, but enough that they might pass through the accursed hallway a little quicker. The sooner they reached the other half of the divided town, the better.

"Hey, barbarian, wait up!" called out one of the soldiers, pushing off of the wall he had been leaning against and sauntering after the pair with an exaggerated swagger to his step.

Aila's fingers, already balled into fists, pressed harder against the inside of her palm. She didn't stop walking; in fact, she was in danger of treading on the back of the mallard's feet.

The sergeant, seeing the chances for them getting out of the fort without incident rapidly dwindling down to nil, started running some quick calculations: Would running be an option? How long would it take to knock out any soldiers that got in the way -- without hurting them too badly? Could he keep Aila from doing anything stupid that would completely sabotage their mission?

A gauntlet grasped Aila's shoulder. Her skin crawled with the loathsome contact. The Karayan archer closed her eyes tightly and tried to ignore the abject nausea washing over her as the ironhead's stale, repugnant breath washed over her ear.

"Pay attention, savage," he purred. "If you want to pass through here, you have to pay a toll…"

"Excuse me…"

Jordi attempted to step between them, but the guard's partner was faster, shoving Jordi back as he blocked him off from the pair.

"Keep moving," he instructed, teeth flashing white beneath the shadows of his helmet.

Narrowing his eyes, Jordi stood his ground, surreptitiously gripping the shaft of his battleaxe a little tighter and shifting his weight.

The first soldier's hand was straying down too far for either Grasslander's comfort, slipping down along her back. Aila gritted her teeth together, fighting back the urge to rip the offending limb from its socket.

Then he leaned in, hissing into her ear again, and red flashed before her eyes as sheer outrage overrode her senses.

* * *

The imposing gates swung open, and a young man dressed in the simple orange and yellow garb of a Zexen squire entered the fortress, four horses ambling along behind him. The quartet of riders was hardly paying attention to their familiar surroundings: they had been here often enough that they recalled the layout of the fortress expertly. They were more interested in continuing their conversation.

All four riders were clad in the flawless white-silver armor and gold-trimmed robes of the most famous unit of the Zexen army: the six Knights of Zexen. The fact that two of their elite number were absent didn't have any effect on their noble bearing.

The rider in the front of the group, a porcelain-skinned woman with intricately braided silver hair, sat high and proud atop her snow-white steed. Though she looked to be at full attention, her violet eyes were averted from the path, fixed instead on the rider to her immediate left. His armor was almost completely concealed by the dark purple jacket he wore, and a dark scarlet scarf was wrapped around his thick neck.

"A messenger from the Great Hollow is expected to arrive here shortly," he informed her quietly, speaking just loud enough that the other riders would be able to hear him over the clacking of horseshoes against stones.

"They'd better not keep us waiting for too long," snorted the other, younger blond man on the female knights' opposite side. "After the Council had us rush over here…"

"Perhaps you should be paying more attention to what's going on around us," interjected the last rider, a lilac-haired, stone-faced man with slim, pointed ears.

"Huh?" The other three knights looked back at the rear rider, and the younger blond asked, "What are you talking…"

An enraged female scream, followed quickly by a surprised curse and other voices raising in anger, drew their full attention to the conflict unfolding several feet away. A Karayan girl was grappling with two of their soldiers, trying to wrench her wrist away from a guard so she could take another swipe with her knife. Another soldier was attempting to intervene, but was being blocked off by a member of the Duck Clan.

"_Let go of me!_" the girl shrilled, feet scrabbling for purchase on the stone floor.

"Damned savage! I'll teach you to--"

"What exactly is going on here?" Chris demanded, riding forward.

"Ah, Lady Chris!" The soldier facing off with the drake snapped off a hasty salute before explaining, "This barbarian attacked Armand, and--"

"_He threatened me!_" screeched the girl. "_He said -- he said--_"

"Aila, calm down!" the duck ordered sharply, before turning to face Chris. "My lady, we were passing through when these two accosted my companion without reason…"

"You were acting suspicious," the other guard sneered. "We were merely going to ask for…"

"_He said he'd only let us through if I had sex with him!_"

"Lying bitch!" shouted Armand, raising his other arm to strike her.

"That's _enough!_" Glaring down at all of them, Chris ordered, "Armand, let go of her. And you, sheathe your weapon at once."

Both soldier and girl looked ready to protest; however, Armand grudgingly released Aila's wrist after a moment, and she stepped back, the instinct to put as much distance between them warring with her pride. The drake moved to her side, positioning himself protectively between her and the soldiers. Only after that did the girl sheathe her dagger, hand hovering over the handle in case she needed to draw it again.

"Roland, escort these Grasslanders to their destination," Chris added tersely. As the elf nodded and murmured his compliance, she added, "Louis, perhaps you should take our horses to the stables. Salome, Borus and I need to discuss Armand and Edoward's behavior…"

"Hey, you're not going to believe these sa--"

"In _private_," Chris stressed, shooting the protecting Edoward a sharp look.

Though she didn't glance around, it was clear her harsh tone was directed to the people who had stopped to watch the confrontation as well. As they dispersed, she dismounted and handed her reins to her squire, Borus and Salome following her example. Roland turned his horse around, fixing the pair of Grasslanders with a disdainful gaze.

"Shall we go?" he prompted mildly.

Nodding, the drake gently took Aila's uninjured arm and led her towards the other gate, only to have the girl wrench her arm free and stomp ahead. Sighing, he shook his head and followed, Roland staying close behind him.

"…The girl seems to be a handful," he noted quietly once they were through the gates, entering the western half of the town.

"…She can be," Jordi confessed under his breath. Shaking his head, he added ruefully, "Still, I should have been paying more attention…"

"Yes, you should have."

Sergeant Jordi peered up at the elf then, narrowing his eyes. He'd been expecting some sort of chastisement, but it still stung his pride a little to hear it, especially given the circumstances.

"You should be keeping a better eye on _your_ men as well…"

"Sir Armand and Sir Edoward are not under my command," Roland replied tersely. "Their punishment will be decided by their superior; rest assured that Lady Chris will see that they receive what their actions warrant. You should be more concerned with controlling your companion…"

"…….."

Jordi felt his feathers ruffle a little, involuntarily. This knight might have been a bit better than his comrades by comparison, but his dismissive, disdainful tone and superior attitude certainly weren't earning him much respect. He wasn't even bothering to look down at the mallard as he addressed him, pale eyes fixed on their destination.

"These are Zexen lands, and you would do well to remember that. Whatever laws you Grasslanders follow don't apply here. If you plan on accomplishing anything here, you have to learn the proper way to conduct yourself…"

"…Starting by forgetting things like common courtesy, right?" hissed the drake under his breath.

That earned him a disdainful glance, but Jordi was able to ignore this a little easier, bolstered by his harsh remark. Childish as it probably seemed to the knight, the insult helped a little, even if it seemed too close to the truth to be comforting on anything but a shallow level.

Aila reached the gates well before them, not stopping in her indignant march until she was well onto the bridge, well past the guards. Then she turned around, folded her arms over her chest, and glared at Roland, green eyes fairly glowing with defiance.

"…How much do you get paid for this, anyway?" she asked as they drew closer. When Roland didn't rise to the bait, she added in a hiss, "Must be a lot if you're willing to turn your back on everything that matters to your kind…"

"……" Still the elf failed to respond, merely tugging up on the reins to make his mount stop moving forward. He didn't look down at her, not even to glare or regard her haughtily, as she expected… instead he glanced expectantly toward the sergeant.

"…Let's go, Aila," Jordi finally instructed, walking past her. If Roland was expecting him to reprimand the girl for her harsh words, he would be sorely disappointed. If he felt it necessary, he would discuss it with her later, in private… but the knight wasn't about to get any sort of apology out of either Grasslander.

…Not that he seemed to care. Without so much as a word of farewell, Roland turned his steed around and headed back into the fortress, making his way toward the stables so he could rejoin his companions.


	4. Arrival at Vinay de Zexay

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Arrival at Vinay de Zexay * ~

The trek through the forest that sheltered the main roads between Brass Castle and the Zexen capital was a mercifully uneventful one. To Sergeant Jordi's relief, Aila vented the majority of her pent-up anger toward the lustful ironhead lookout on whatever unfortunate specimens of the local monster population decided to try and impede their progress.

Jordi had to admit, he could see why Jimba had chosen her as his companion for this mission. Aila possessed the unfortunate combination of a short fuse and a fiery temper sometimes, but she was a crack shot with her bow. So long as her targets didn't get too close, she could hold her own in a fight – and, naturally, Sergeant Jordi was fully capable of ensuring very few monsters got anywhere near the archer.

(Still, if she doesn't learn how to control that temper… it'll only hinder her on the battlefield.)

Jordi shook his head, gazing up the winding path they were following. The trees were thinning out, giving way to a rolling, grassy slope while the well-worn trail that had wound through the heart of the forest yielded to cobblestones. A railing cropped up alongside the roadway, cutting it off from the lush grass beyond.

"Here we are, Aila," he said, directing the Karayan girl's attention to their location with a wave of his wing. "The Zexen capital city…"

Aila slipped her bow back into its holster while following the mallard toward the outskirts of the walled city. Despite her inherent dislike of the ironheads, she couldn't help but stare once they crossed underneath the gates and she got her first real look at Vinay de Zexay.

Just as the path up to the city had risen up along a hillside, the entire town seemed to follow a gentle downward slope toward the ocean. Aila could clearly see the vast expanse of deep azure water over the crest of slanted orange rooftops and white stone streets. There was an open, flat plaza before the gates, and several citizens milled about, some going about their business while others took time to enjoy the view.

Sergeant Jordi watched Aila out of the corner of his eye and allowed himself a small smile at the archer's awe. He had to admit it truly was a breathtaking sight, one that would only be even more spectacular during the first hours of dusk or dawn.

(If only the hearts of all the people in this city were as pure and beautiful as their town can appear sometimes…)

Used to the cold reality of life in the Zexen capital, the sergeant merely shook his head and dismissed the sappy romantic notion with an inward shrug.

"Come, now, Aila. We can take in the sights after we deliver Chief Jimba's message."

"Huh? Oh. Right, right," Aila blinked and nodded agreement.

She followed the Duck Clan soldier down the high steps into the main city. Although she tried to remain focused on their reason for coming to the capital, however, Aila kept looking around at the towering structures of wood and meticulously organized streets, leaf green eyes wide and full of wonder.

It was in every possible way a complete opposite of her own village. Karayan huts were simple but lovingly made huts of leather and woven grasses, a far cry from the towering Zexen houses with their intricate but somehow uniform designs. The streets were hard and fixed, nothing like the winding footpaths that connected each of the bungalows together.

What disturbed Aila the most, however, was the decided lack of green growing things visible inside the city. There was no sign of the earth she knew must dwell somewhere beneath the shiny white stone roads and hard wooden buildings. The only visible greenery was the occasional single file of thin trees and a bush in a pot placed in obvious patterns alongside the paths. It was like the ironheads had choked off all signs of nature that they couldn't control.

The Grasslander pair rounded a corner, and Aila's eyes lit up as she spotted a square section just off the main road that seemed to overflow with the plants that were in such short supply elsewhere. As they approached the lot, she saw that this patch of land was separated from the rest of the town by a fence, making up the yard of a lavish-looking mansion.

They reached the gates, and Aila saw a silver nameplate bolted to the low stone wall cutting off the yard from the road. Curious, she read the inscription, then stopped dead in her tracks.

[Residence of the Lightfellow Family], the sign proclaimed in fancy emblazoned cursive.

"Aila?" Sergeant Jordi realized the archer was no longer following him, and walked back toward her. "What's the matter?"

"Chief Jimba said… he wanted me to deliver something to the Lightfellow family while I was here." Aila produced the talisman from the inside of her tunic and showed it to the mallard.

"Oh, so that's what you wanted to talk to Lady Chris about," Sergeant Jordi surmised, studying the pentacle briefly before nodding. "Well, then, might as well drop it off while you're thinking about it."

Aila nodded back, then, slipping the talisman back into her tunic, pushed open the gate and stepped into the garden. Jordi followed, aware that she wouldn't take it too well if the Zexens interfered with her fulfilling a promise to her Chief.

To their surprise, the front door was unlocked, and swung open invitingly when Aila tested it. The Karayan maiden blinked, exchanged a quick look with the Duck Clan soldier, then shrugged and stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called. Her voice echoed off the walls of the large chamber that served as the main hall of the mansion. "Can anyone hear me?"

For a few moments silence was the only answer she received. Then came the muted sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the grand hall. After a couple of minutes an well-aged man in fine clothing appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Can I help you… Miss?" he inquired as he descended toward them, the slight hesitation in his question the only outward sign of his surprise when he saw the young Karayan woman standing in front of the door.

"Are you a member of the Lightfellow family?" Aila asked.

"I am the head servant for the Lightfellow family," corrected the man gently without any hint of annoyance at her honest mistake.

"Servant?" echoed Aila, blinking in surprise.

"Yes. The lady of the house is out at this time, so if there's anything I can help you with in the meantime…"

"Oh. Can you see that she receives this when she gets back?" Aila held out the pentacle for the butler to see. "I was instructed by my Chief to ensure this is returned to them."

"May I see it, please?"

Aila surrendered the talisman to the attendant, and he studied the intricately carved wooden symbol briefly. He then nodded once and looked back up at the huntress.

"This indeed belongs to the Lightfellow family," he ascertained. Raising one eyebrow slightly, he asked, "Might I inquire how it came into your possession?"

"Chief Jimba said it belonged to a knight," Aila replied with a shrug. "He wished for me to inform you that the knight passed on bravely and honorably during a battle."

"I… see." The man nodded, and slipped the trinket into his coat. "I'll be sure to relay your message for you."

"All right."

Aila turned to leave, but the butler reached out and added, "Wait, please. I must see to it that you're well rewarded for returning this to the Lightfellow family. Is there anything you might accept?"

"Well, I…" Aila turned and shook her head.

"Money."

Aila and the servant both looked back to where Sergeant Jordi was standing by the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"We could use some extra funds for our stay here," he clarified.

"Of course," the butler agreed, nodding toward him. "If you'll wait for just a few minutes…"

With that, the servant turned and headed back into the mansion. Aila looked curiously at the Sergeant, then her gaze wandered all around the chamber, taking in the fine furnishings and various relics from far and wide. After a short while, the servant returned and handed her a small leather pouch.

"There you go," he said, turning over the reward. "Thank you again for returning this."

He bowed toward her, but Aila simply turned and headed back outside without acknowledging this. After she closed the door, the butler straightened back up, and the first hint of mild annoyance he'd shown since seeing the girl flickered across his face.

"…Is it just her youth, or are all Karayans that rude?" he murmured quietly.

~ * ~

"This would be the place," Sergeant Jordi informed Aila as they ascended a few steps to a second plaza.

This square was far wider than the one at the town gates, and a circular fountain marked the center of the courtyard. There was a small slope a few short feet beyond the fountain, and a second pair of stairs in this matched up perfectly with the set leading to the double doors of a large mansion.

"This is the Zexen Council Chambers," Sergeant Jordi explained, leading the archer toward the grandiose building. "Once we get the message delivered, we can start the journey back whenever you wish."

As they approached the entrance, however, a guard in full plate armor that had been standing silently by the doors stepped out in front of them. He folded his arms behind his back and stood firm as Aila glared at him, trying to see his face underneath the visor covering his eyes.

"Excuse me? Could you please let us pass? We have to give something to the Zexen Council."

The guard didn't move, not even to shake his head in denial. Aila fixed the soldier with a nasty look, then Sergeant Jordi stepped forward.

"We come bearing a message from the Chief of Karaya concerning the peace treaty with Zexen," he announced. "May we be allowed to pass through?"

"What proof do you have that you are an official messenger of Karaya?"

"This sealed message, bearing the seal of the Chief," Jordi began, showing the carefully secured container, "and this girl. Aila is one of the swiftest, most skilled hunters in Karaya Village. She, along with myself, have been entrusted with ensuring that this is seen by the Zexen Council as soon as possible."

"…I will check with the Council. Wait here."

The guard turned stiffly on his heel and walked into the building, closing the doors behind him. Aila immediately turned to Sergeant Jordi, looking impressed.

"That was fast," she commented, arching her eyebrows. "Where did you learn to talk to ironheads like that?"

"Experience. Knowing how the Zexens work."

Rather than elaborate further on that point, the winged warrior turned back to face the doorway and waited. The guard returned shortly, his expression unreadable beneath the shadows of his heavy headgear.

"The Council is very busy at this time," he reported. "You will have to wait a couple of days until they are able to fit you into the schedule."

"What?"

"Fine," Sergeant Jordi cut Aila's protest short with a curt nod. "I should hope that they find the time quickly, since this message is of the utmost importance and the discussion of the treaty is approaching rapidly."

Again the soldier said nothing in reply. The sergeant turned stiffly on his heel, almost in mockery of the way the guard had done minutes before, and walked away, Aila close behind him.

"I can't believe this!" she fumed as they reached the fountain. "They just completely blew us off, didn't they?!"

"This is how the Zexens work, I'm afraid," Sergeant Jordi responded, turning to face the upset archer. "They want us to see that their time is precious, so they'll make us wait for a while before receiving our message."

"That's stupid," she sulked, folding her arms.

"That's the way it is," shrugged the sergeant. "Try not to let it get to you. At least it gives you time to take in the sights of the city…"

Attempting to get the girl's mind off of how they'd been forced to wait, Sergeant Jordi began showing her around the city. He wasn't too surprised when Aila decided to linger in the open-air marketplace near the docks, though he was a bit surprised by just what captured her attention. Rather than browsing through the carts of goods and trinkets, the young huntress seemed fascinated by the performance of a trio of musicians standing at the edge of the market practicing their trade.

(Well, at least she isn't angling to be taken in by some slick dealer's scam,) he mused ironically.

Looking around, he soon saw an inn by the waterside. It looked considerably reputable, and the mallard decided it would be in their best interests to secure a room as soon as possible. The last thing he needed to deal with would be the inevitable fallout if they weren't able to obtain any reservations for the night.

"I'm going to check in at the inn over there," he informed Aila, pointing in the direction of the establishment. "Wait here for me, all right?"

"All right," Aila agreed.

The sergeant walked off, and she went back to listening to the bright, merry tune that the minstrels were playing. She was amazed at the diversity of the trio: the fiddler was a lean adult human male with an impressive-sized nose, while the slender ears of an elf peeked out from beneath the ocean blue tresses of the petite woman beside him. The last member of their group couldn't have been more than six years old, yet was playing her instrument with a passion and skill that matched her unlikely-seeming partners.

Aila was entranced. She could have easily stood and listened to the trio play for hours if it hadn't been for the shouting match that erupted a few feet away from where she was standing.

"My father is not a liar! And I'll prove it!"

"Huh?"

Aila looked over just in time to spot a young boy bolting past her, so close he nearly crashed into the huntress. Startled, she looked over to where he'd come from. A grossly overweight man in a gaudy blue and white suit was looking in the direction the boy had fled with a vaguely troubled look on his face. However, he soon lost the expression and turned back to face the crowd of people around him.

"Ah, poor young Melville! He's so obviously delusional!" he boomed, chortling heartily. "But you can hardly blame the lad, when his wastrel of a father abandoned him to the streets like that…"

Aila didn't know why, but something about the portly man repulsed her immediately. His jovial words sounded off in her ears, maybe because of the way he laughed about another's troubles so gaily.

He continued to chortle, so much that Aila found she could no longer enjoy the merry melody as she had been. She wandered away from the square and toward the main marketplace, completely forgetting the sergeant's instructions in her haste to get away from the grating sound.

She bided her time by studying the fronts of the stores she walked past. Each had a very different display showing off the various goods offered inside. The armor shop looked particularly inviting, but the sergeant had taken most of their traveling money with him when he went to book the inn. Besides, Aila was fine with her current protective gear, worn and patched as the armor beneath her normal leathers was…

She strolled past the trading post and the rune shop, then paused as she spotted a pair of young Zexens talking near the doorway of the latter store. One was a girl in a bright scarlet dress with her mahogany hair pulled up into oddly shaped pigtails, while the other was a blond boy with glasses.

"…remember the password?" the girl was asking, fixing her companion with a searching look.

"Sure!" he chirped nervously. "It's 'The Three Knights of Zexen', right?"

"Right, right! Be sure to remember it! Otherwise Melville'll be upset again…"

(Melville? Say, wasn't that the boy that man was talking about…?)

Aila watched the two youngsters duck into an alleyway. Curious to see what the little ironheads were up to, she decided to follow. The byway was narrow, but hardly too difficult for a slender Karayan huntress to slip through.

On the other side, she was surprised to find a small lot that was cut off on all sides by the walls of the surrounding buildings. The only way in or out was the alley she had gotten in from. However, there was no sign of the two youngsters, just a curly-tailed dog with tan fur gamboling about.

(Huh?)

Looking around, Aila soon noticed a ladder leaning up against one of the stone and wooden walls. Standing before it, she looked up to see it led to a small wooden platform with another ladder resting on top of it. Curiosity rising, she climbed up the structure, and discovered it ended with another set of planks bolted in front of a window.

The glass was covered with planks bolted on the inside, making it impossible for her to see anything when she tried looking through it. With nothing else better to do, she knocked.

"Oh!" cried the voice of the glasses-clad boy from inside. "It's Melville!"

"Quiet, you!" shouted the voice of the girl. "We're not supposed to know it's Melville!"

"Oh, right, right… Do you know the password, traveler?"

"………" Aila hesitated for a minute, then shrugged and replied, "'The Three Knights of Zexen'."

"Right! Okay, now open the gates!" the girl instructed from inside.

"Um, but Alanis, that didn't sound like…"

"Open up and let Melville in!" interrupted the girl, sounding upset.

"Okay, okay…!"

Aila blinked as the window swung open and she suddenly found herself face to face with a pair of wide-eyed ironhead children. The two immediately sprang back from the opening, staring at her in shock.

"Y-you're not Melville!" the boy stuttered, glasses slipping down his nose as he trembled with fright.

"…Well, no," Aila climbed into the attic with her hands raised in a calming gesture, "But I…"

"Sir Elliot, straighten up!" the scarlet-clad girl commanded. Clutching a small black wand with a small blue jewel laid into the tip, she cried, "We won't allow our castle to fall into the hands of raiders!"

"…'Castle'? 'Raiders'?" Aila wasn't too sure if she was more surprised by the fact that the girl was calling this attic room a castle, or that she was referring to the single Karayan huntress in the plural form.

"I, Lady Alanis the Silver Maiden and Sub-Captain of the Saint Loa Knights, will keep you from seizing our secret fortress!" declared the Zexen maiden. Casting a glance over her shoulder at the quaking blond boy, she commanded, "Sir Elliot, Swordsman of Wind of the Saint Loa Knights, back me up!"

"O…okay…"

Aila wasn't sure whether she was more annoyed, amused, or confused by this whole situation. Before she could think of some way to respond to the younger girl's threat, there was a knock at the window, which had swung shut behind her.

"'The Three Knights of Zexen'," declared a young male voice. After a short pause, there was another set of knocks, and the voice commanded, "Hey, Alanis, Elliot, let me in."

"…………"

Aila looked over at Alanis and Elliot. When it became apparent neither was going to open the window, she leaned over and unlatched it for them, pushing it open. A boy with short tan hair climbed into the room, straightening up the second his shoes hit the floor.

"It's about time, Alanis…" he trailed off when he saw who had let him into the room. He stared at Aila for a few seconds, then turned and looked at the other young Zexens.

"Is she a new recruit?" he asked.

"Not exactly…"

~ * ~

Aila was grateful for the fact that the trio of ironhead children actually listened to her explanation. The way things had been going lately, she wouldn't have been too surprised if they'd chosen to attack and attempt to drive the 'Grasslander barbarian' off. She doubted they'd be able to hurt her too badly, but still, she wasn't too keen on the thought of fighting children.

"…So you're a messenger from the Grasslands?" Melville asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Is that a real weapon you're carrying?" piped Elliot.

"Yes, this is my bow," and Aila brought the weapon out for the trio to admire. She couldn't keep a tinge of pride from entering her voice as she added, "I'm one of the most skilled archers in my village."

(Technically, it's not bragging if someone else said it first, right, Sergeant Joe?) she added to herself.

"Hmph. I have a real weapon too, you know," groused Melville, trying to look not as impressed as his friends. "The sword that father left me…"

Remembering what she'd overheard in the marketplace, Aila shot the young boy a sympathetic look.

"My father's a great adventurer," Melville continued without any prompting. "He's a treasure hunter, always off scouring the land for hidden riches. He recently went off to check out a ship he saw across the water from inside a cavern nearby, only…" He closed his eyes and bowed his head before finishing, "…Nobody else's seen the ship but him."

Aila didn't know how to respond to that. He looked so downcast that she wanted to at least try and console him, but she couldn't think of the right words.

As it happened, she didn't need to.

"Well, let's go find it, then!" Alanis prompted, standing up and clenching her hands into fists.

"What?"

Melville, Elliot and Aila looked at the Zexen girl curiously. Alanis didn't seem the least bit bothered by their stares, for she just nodded over at her two friends, a determined expression on her face. Her tan eyes shone with excitement.

"The Saint Loa Knights can do anything!" she declared. "Let's go find that ship and prove to everybody that it exists!"

"Who are the Saint Loa Knights?" asked Aila.

"Oh, that's right, we've forgotten to introduce ourselves properly," Melville stated.

Aila watched curiously as the boys walked over to join Alanis. Melville then proceeded to do about the last thing she'd expected: he waved his arms about and began to pose.

"I am Melville, Captain and Swordsman of Rage of the Saint Loa Knights!" he declared, ending up with his left fist raised high into the air and standing ramrod straight.

"I am Alanis," and the pigtailed girl went into her own series of poses, "Silver Maiden and Sub-Captain of the Saint Loa Knights!"

"I am Elliot, Swordsman of Wind of the Saint Loa Knights!"

There was a silence bordering on ridiculously awkward while Aila stared at the trio. The corner of her left eye twitched briefly. After a short pause, the young knights dropped their poses entirely.

"Okay… So you three are planning on going off to find where your father spotted this ship from?"

"That's the idea," Alanis nodded agreement. Fixing her hazel eyes on the older girl, she asked, "Do you think maybe you could accompany us, please? I'm sure your skills as a Karayan warrior would be a huge help…"

"Yeah, could you come? I'd feel a lot better if you did," Elliot chimed.

Aila looked back and forth between the three children. True, they were a bunch of little ironheads, but still… they were only kids. They looked about the same age as Lulu back home, and if they were anything like that scamp…

"All right. It's not like I've got much else to do until the Council decides to finally see us," she decided with a shrug.

"Great!" Alanis smiled. "We've got to get some things from home ready, so could you meet us by the gates as soon as you're prepared?"

"Sure."

Aila followed Alanis and Elliot out the window and into the alleyway. She couldn't help but notice, however, that Melville wasn't in a rush to go anywhere.

(I guess, maybe, he might not have anyplace else to go…)

With an effort, Aila pushed such thoughts out of her mind. Right now, she had to try and figure out just how she was going to explain to the sergeant that she'd just made a commitment to go on a little adventure while waiting on the Zexen Council…


	5. Saint Loa Knights Assemble!

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Saint Loa Knights Assemble! * ~

"So let me get this straight: you agreed to help a group of ironhead children who fancy themselves to be knights look for signs of a ship that may or may not exist?"

"That's about right," Aila nodded.

The sergeant snorted and shook his head. He was taking the whole mess a lot better than Aila had expected, though he'd made it clear he disapproved of the fact that she'd wandered off after promising to stay right where she was until he returned from the inn. He seemed more amused than annoyed.

"I'd better go along with you, just to make sure you don't get in over your heads. Let's just hope the Council doesn't try to see us while we're not here."

Privately, however, Jordi doubted that would be a problem. There were still a few days before the meeting for the peace treaty would occur, and the sergeant had little doubt the Zexen Council would gladly put off seeing the Grassland messengers until it would be difficult for them to change their plans. Then, they could simply blame the pair for not giving them the letter sooner… a petty and blatantly disrespectful plan, but one that suited the ironheads perfectly.

They reached the plaza, and Aila quickly pointed out a trio of youngsters standing by the gates. Sergeant Jordi followed her over, studying during his approach. He was mildly surprised to notice that one of the boys, a brown-haired kid wearing a blue vest over his white shirt, had a real sword strapped to his belt. He remembered Aila mentioning that the apparent leader of the group talked about having his father's sword, but still, it was surprising to see a Zexen youth carrying a weapon.

True, had the boy been a Karayan youth, he would not have been startled in the least. All Karayans were trained in the use of daggers during their childhood; it was a basic, easy to handle weapon with plenty of uses outside of battle. Even Aila carried a small dagger around, though she much preferred using her bow.

But the Zexens as a whole tended not to view themselves as a warlike culture – despite the fact that their Council had been attempting to seize control of the Grasslands for years. Their children generally weren't trained in the use of weapons until they were old enough to join the ranks of the ironhead soldiers.

So the fact that this Melville kid had a sword strapped to his belt was interesting to say the least.

"Melville, Alanis, Elliot, I'm here," Aila called, hurrying over to join them.

"Ah, glad to see that you've made it," declared Alanis, hazel eyes lighting up when she saw the huntress. "Thank you for agreeing to help our cause, Duchess Aila of Karaya."

"What did you just call me?"

"Duchess Aila of Karaya," repeated Melville seriously. "It would be rude if you didn't have a title the same way we do. Does 'Duchess' suit you?"

"Um… okay," Aila shrugged. Gesturing to the mallard behind her, she added, "This is Sergeant Jordi… of the Duck Clan, I guess…"

"You guess?" echoed Jordi ironically.

Aila didn't miss the humor in his tone, but shot her partner an annoyed glance anyway.

"Great. Allow us to introduce ourselves, then."

"Oh, that's not necessary, I already told him all about you," Aila said, wincing involuntarily.

"Nonsense. It'd be rude if we didn't introduce ourselves to the sergeant." Melville drew his sword and brandished it in front, blade pointed downward. "I am Melville, Captain and Swordsman of Rage of the Saint Loa Knights."

"I'm Alanis," the auburn-haired girl waved a sapphire-tipped cane in the air and winked, "Silver Maiden and Sub-Captain of the Saint Loa Knights."

"And I'm Elliot," chimed the lad with glasses, "Swordsman of Wind of the Saint Loa Knights."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Sergeant Jordi said dryly.

Aila favored the mallard with another glare. Thankfully, the trio of Zexen youths failed to pick up on his sarcasm. Alanis smiled, clapping her hands together and turning around.

"Right, then, we're off!" she proclaimed, raising her cane and pointing dramatically toward the gates. "Let's find the legendary ship your father spoke of, Melville!"

"…Yeah… Let's go, Knights," Melville echoed.

Though he mimicked the girl's posture, jabbing the blade of his sword toward the horizon, it lacked the same conviction the Sub-Captain was showing. Both Aila and Sergeant Jordi noticed this, but neither commented. Instead, the pair of Grasslanders followed the lead of the Saint Loa Knights, following them out the gates and back outside of the walled city.

Aila was perfectly happy once they set foot outside those towering gates. The Karayan huntress tilted her head back and inhaled softly, gratefully taking in the familiar scents the breeze carried. In Vinay de Zexay, even the scents of the earth and air were muted, overpowered by the stench of burning coal, oil, and other resources.

To be perfectly honest, she wouldn't have minded if their trek took them miles away from the capital city. The sergeant wouldn't be too pleased if that were the case, she knew; however, the archer preferred the openness of nature, the freedom that only seemed to languish and wither behind the stone walls the ironheads loved…

So Aila actually felt mildly disappointed when their all-too-short hike led them to the mouth of an open cave. There were several cliffs lining the land to the immediate north of Vinay de Zexay, and it was here that Melville led his small band of travelers. Elliot, who had been tagging along near the rear of the group for most of the trip, ran up to the edge of the cavern. The blond boy leaned forward and sniffed the air, then turned around to face his friends, smiling excitedly.

"I can definitely smell water up ahead," he announced proudly. "This has got to be the place that Melville's dad was talking about!"

"All right then, so let's go in!"

"Wait, Alanis!"

"What's wrong?" The scarlet-clad girl turned to face her leader, hazel eyes briefly showing confusion. Then she suddenly gave a sly smile, saying, "Oh, don't tell me the mighty Swordsman of Rage is feeling scared?"

"I'm not scared!" Melville vehemently denied with a furious shake of his head.

"Um…"

All eyes turned to Elliot; the blonde child was visibly shaking. He nervously adjusted his glasses, which kept slipping off of his nose.

"…The truth is, I'm kinda s-scared myself…" he admitted.

"Elliot, don't say such things." Melville shook his head with dismay. "What kind of a knight gets scared so easily?"

"A smart one," Sergeant Jordi spoke up. The Duck Clan warrior regarded the two boys with a serious expression as he stated, "Only a fool feels no fear when faced with an unknown or dangerous situation. A fighter learns how to conceal, and face, his fears."

Both boys nodded, then Melville turned back to face his friend. The brunette smiled confidently.

"Don't worry, Elliot, we'll be fine," he promised. "I'll protect all of us from whatever's in there besides the ship."

"Hey, I don't need your protection!" Alanis protested.

"And what about us?" Aila huffed, hands on her hips. The archer smiled, betraying the fact that her anger was merely an act, even as she added, "After the way you all but begged for me to join you little knights on your quest and all…"

"Sorry about that," Melville bowed stiffly toward the huntress. "No insult intended, milady."

After they finished laughing, the little group headed into the cave. Sergeant Jordi and Melville took point, with Aila and Alanis following closely after their respective partners. Elliot tagged along behind them, cowering in the background whenever a random group of monsters attacked.

Nobody really blamed the blond boy for his uselessness in battle, though. His mother didn't allow him to learn how to use even a simple cane like Alanis', let alone a blade like the one Melville carried. Plus Alanis had a Fire Rune in her right hand, though she didn't inform their Grasslander escorts of this so much as nearly catch Jordi in a Flaming Arrow spell she cast on a nymph he was in the middle of slashing.

The sergeant wasn't too pleased with that.

Between the efforts of their four fighters, the group was able to make their way through the cavern without too much difficulty. Soon, the narrow tunnel they were following broadened into a cavern. The hollow had clearly once been used for mining purposes: a natural pathway wound up along the circular sides of the dugout, accented with several pieces of broken or rundown equipment.

"Now… we have… to climb?" panted Elliot, olive eyes bulging behind his lopsided glasses. "Can't we rest first?"

"No, we should keep going!" Alanis prompted impatiently. "The ship…"

"The ship can wait a little longer," interrupted Jordi, stepping between the two. "I doubt it's going anywhere. And neither are we, until we get some rest."

"But…"

"It's late," the sergeant didn't allow her time to protest. "Aila and I had a long journey to Vinay de Zexay, and we only just arrived today. Then, we spent the rest of the afternoon helping you young knights with your noble little quest. I think we all should take this chance to rest."

"…I agree," Melville nodded. Looking over at Alanis, he added, "My father's ship can wait for our arrival just a little longer. Do you have any magic left so that we can light a fire?"

"Oh, all right then…"

Alanis huffed and turned away from the others. Elliot sighed with relief and sunk to his knees, grateful for the reprieve. While Sergeant Jordi and Melville started collecting wood scraps from the debris for the campfire, Aila looked curiously at the younger girl.

(What's with her, anyway?)

~ * ~

A short time later, the fire was blazing brightly, a beacon warding off any monsters that might think to attack the resting travelers. Aila, however, was having difficulty getting to sleep. The archer sat up, absently rubbing her eyes while aiming a cold look in the direction of the source of her problems.

"Spirits… Who would have thought ducks talked so much in their sleep?"

The sergeant was curled up a short distance away with his back turned to her, mumbling under his breath. Aila couldn't discern what exactly he was murmuring, and quite frankly didn't care. All it meant was that she wasn't going to get much sleep unless he quieted down.

Looking over at the fire, Aila was a bit surprised to see that she was not the only one awake. The other female member of their party sat on one of the larger chunks of wood half-buried in the ground, staring into the flames.

"What's the matter, can't you sleep?" Aila asked, somewhat unnecessarily.

Alanis looked up at the archer, briefly startled. Then her hazel eyes softened, and her gaze returned to the crackling fire in front of her while she shook her head.

"No, I guess not…"

"Can I…" the Karayan girl stood and crossed over to where the Zexen maiden was seated, "…ask you something?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Why are you so determined to find this ship, anyway?" Alanis looked sharply up at her, and Aila added, "I mean, even Melville's not as gung-ho about this whole quest as you've been acting. I would think that he'd be the one always saying 'Let's go, Knights! Find my father's ship!' but…"

Alanis' hazel gaze returned once more to the flames before her, and Aila figured she was going to ignore the question. (That would be just like an ironhead,) she decided in a huff, a spike of anger surging through her as she recalled being blown off by the guard at the council building. She very nearly missed it when the younger girl suddenly spoke up.

"My father… is a traveling merchant," Alanis said softly, shifting her weight a bit while staring into the fire. "His job takes him all over the place, and I'm mostly just along for the ride. We've never stayed in a single place long enough for me to make any friends before he got that offer in Vinay de Zexay…"

"And then you met Melville and Elliot there, right?" guessed Aila, keeping her voice gentle and quiet.

"Yeah," Alanis nodded. "But, well… Father's contract will be up soon, and we'll be leaving Vinay. I… haven't told Melville or Elliot yet. I'm scared they'll stop being my friend if they knew I was leaving…"

Aila looked sympathetically at the young Zexen lass, unable to think of something she could do or say to alleviate her inner turmoil. The archer really couldn't relate, since she'd grown up in the same village all her life. The thought of having to move around constantly, never staying in one place long enough to call it home, was a foreign concept, and not one she exactly liked.

She ended up settling for placing a comforting arm across the younger girl's shoulders, staring steadfastly into the fire and trying to imagine what it would be like to have to leave somewhere like Karaya Village after having it as her home for so long. It was almost unimaginable…

~ * ~

The five awoke early the next morning, and after ensuring the fire was safely extinguished and they'd gathered all of their supplies up, set off again, heading up the sides of the cavern and deeper into the cave. They remained in roughly the same formation: Sergeant Jordi and Melville pairing up with Aila and Alanis, respectively, while Elliot followed behind the four fighters.

"How much farther are we going to have to walk?" Elliot asked, trailing after the rest of the quintet.

"Stop whining," Alanis instructed, glancing over her shoulder at the blond-haired boy and frowning. "We've rested enough."

"You needn't be so hard on the boy," Jordi admonished her gently. "You're hardly trained warriors, after all."

"We are the Knights of Saint Loa!" Alanis raised her chin proudly. "We can do anything!"

"Then can you be quiet?" shot back the sergeant in an urgent whisper. "We don't want every monster in this place coming at us all at once."

Alanis sulked, but a glance from Melville silenced the young fire mage. At the head of the group, Aila shook her head and continued forward, leading the others deeper into the narrow tunnel.

"There should be another open cavern just up ahead," she softly informed the others. "I can feel it."

Sergeant Jordi nodded agreement. He trusted Aila's judgement, knowing her sensitivity to such matters. The archer's link to the earth went much deeper than the rune in her right hand: her family was known for its ability to communicate with the spirits of nature. While Jordi didn't put too much stock in the tales of spirits and such superstitions, even he had to admit that Aila had some talents that couldn't be easily explained in any other manner…

Sure enough, they soon arrived in a second cavern much like the first, the primary difference being that the tunnel they entered from was located at the top of the natural pathway. The path wound back down the sides to rest in front of another tunnel.

This, however, did not concern the group so much as the band of strange men they saw camping out in front of said tunnel.

Aila and Jordi immediately dropped into a crouch and crept to the edge of the cliff. The young Saint Loa Knights followed their lead, and carefully all five members peered over the side down at the strangers.

All of the members of the other group were adult men, the sergeant observed, and all were swathed in the concealing garb of bandits. Each wore a turban with dirty white cloth wound around most of their head, hiding any distinguishing facial features from view. Of more immediate concern to the sergeant, however, was the worn leather armor they wore over their baggy clothes, not to mention the nasty curved scimitars each carried on his belt.

While the travelers watched, a bandit came running out of the cavern at the bottom of the gorge.

"Hey!" he shouted at his fellows. "Get back to work, you lazy bunch of little jerks! Treasure left about can incite the boss to beat me day and night!"

The other workers looked over at the newcomer, and one shrugged his shoulders, looking unimpressed by his comrade's declaration.

"Yes, we know, we understand. Even your rhymes built of sand. But repeat the orders too much not. Drives us mad, we pray you stop!"

"Here we are, treasure seekers," chimed the third. "Craving profits makes us weaker. While we're hungry for some grub… A massage! Now that we'd love!"

The other two turned to their comrade, and despite the fact that their faces were covered, their audience of five could almost feel the two rolling their eyes. Then they ran into the tunnel behind them, disappearing into the darkness.

"M-Mel-Melville…" Elliot whimpered, backing away from the edge of the cliff and looking desperately at his commander. "Home! Now! Please!"

"No way!" Alanis shook her head vigorously. "We've come too far to give up now!"

"I know…" Melville nodded once, then stood up, fingering the hilt of his sword. "Besides, I bet those guys know something about my father's ship!"

"Well, if you three are intent on doing this…" Sergeant Jordi shook his head and looked over at Aila. "We can't let these kids go off and get themselves hurt, right, Aila?"

"Yeah," nodded the archer. She smiled at the trio of children while adding, "Besides, what kind of Duchess would I be if I abandoned my friends in their hour of need?"

"Thank you, Aila!" beamed Alanis. "And you too, Mister Duck!"

"……"

One of the sergeant's eyebrows twitched, but he didn't say a word. Aila quickly stifled a giggle, then drew an arrow from her quiver and notched it. The huntress nodded at Melville.

"On your command," she winked roguishly, "Captain."

"Right." Melville drew his sword and, with a flourish, pointed it toward the tunnel entrance below them. "Charge!"

Rather than race down the winding path, the five chose the faster and much easier route of sliding down the incline, kicking up clouds of dirt and dust as their feet dug into the loose ground. By the time they reached the floor, everyone had their weapons up and ready, except for the unarmed and very nervous Elliot. The glasses-wearing boy hung back and watched nervously as his friends' charge was met by a couple of bandits.

"Halt! You shall not pass!" one of the thieves shouted. "For we will kick your…"

Jordi cut off his curse with a swift blow to the bandit's head using the blunt side of his halberd's blade.

"Learn to watch your mouth when there are children present," he muttered.

The quartet quickly dispatched the bandits by knocking them out, though Aila had to shoot one in the hand when he got too close to slicing Melville in the leg. Elliot found a bunch of ropes nearby, and Jordi quickly went to work tying their would-be aggressors up.

"That should hold them for a while," he informed the others, dusting off his feathered fingers and retrieving his weapon. Turning to Melville, he prompted, "Lead the way, then, Melville."

The boy nodded back, then turned and charged into the darkness, Alanis and Elliot close on his heels. Sergeant Jordi and Aila ran after them, though the mallard moved slowly, taking in their surrounding carefully.

"What's wrong, Sergeant?" Aila inquired, seeing her companion's hesitance.

"Something's not right," he muttered. "I know I saw more bandits, so why…"

Suddenly, a shout of surprise echoed back toward them. The Grasslanders stiffened with shock, then charged down the tunnel, weapons drawn. Just as they reached the end of the passageway, however, a rusty iron grate dropped down, cutting off their progress.

"Hey!" Aila cried out, screeching to a halt.

What prompted her startled shout, however, was not simply the presence of the grate. Instead, it was who she saw standing on the other side, along with Melville, Alanis and Elliot. She and the sergeant could see clearly what was happening through the wide iron slats, and Aila's green eyes widened with recognition.

"It's you!" she exclaimed.

"Huh? What?" The portly man cocked his head to one side, regarding the astonished Karayan maiden curiously. "Do I know you, young lady?"

"Guillaume!" shouted Melville, holding the hilt of his sword with both hands and pointing it at the large man. "Your business is with me, not anyone else!"

"Oh? Quite right, my dear boy, quite right," Guillaume glanced back at the boy and chortled his agreement. Turning to face the group at large, he explained, "You see, it's simply not in my best interests if you keep blabbing to people about this place. I store a great deal of my treasures here, and if some nosy busybodies came looking for that ship your father loved to brag about…"

"You called my father a liar!" shouted Melville, glaring at the gaudily dressed man. "But you're the only liar here!"

"Not true, not true," declared Guillaume with a shake of his head. "Why, those bandits I hired to protect my treasures claimed I wouldn't have any trouble with meddlers like yourselves, but just look…" He abruptly grinned, spying something just past the sergeant and archer, and merrily proclaimed, "Ah, wait, wait, here we go, now we're getting somewhere…!"

The Grasslanders spun around to see four bandits dashing down the hallway. Sergeant Jordi gripped his halberd tightly, and Aila quickly prepared another arrow.

"Oi! They're strange ones!" cried one of the bandits.

"You'll pay for what you've done!" another snarled, fingering his sword. "Think you can win in the fox's den? Time for punishment as men!"

The four lunged forward, only to be met by the sweeping edge of Jordi's weapon. The mallard charged into the center of the group and swung his halberd low and level with the ground, knocking them off their feet. Aila pegged the first to rise with an arrow, then began to glow a faint yellow aura while chanting a spell.

"Protect us, guardian of clay," she whispered, curly hair bobbing in the mystical currents rippling outward from her figure.

She raised her right hand, and the Earth rune glowed. Several pillars of stone erupted from the ground, surrounding Aila and the sergeant. A yellow glyph appeared beneath their feet, light erupting up in a column around them as the clay guardian bestowed its blessings upon the pair.

Lowering her hand and taking up her bow again, Aila smirked. Earth magic primarily focused on fortifying one's body with mystical protection. But she didn't need access to its higher-level attack spells when it came to this bunch of rag-tag bandits. She drew a bead on the closest of her opponents, almost daring him to try something.

The bandits backed up, staring at the duo warily. For a duck and a girl, they were rapidly proving to be more of a match for the quartet than they'd expected.

"Oooohhh… Ouch…" The leader of the band shook his head suddenly, and shouted, "Even lions are known to flee if danger's reward comes uneasily!"

And with that, the thieves turned tail and fled. Aila actually felt a bit disappointed, since she'd already used some of her stored magical energy just to cast Clay Guardian in preparation for a fierce fight…

"Oh dear," Guillaume lamented, backing away from the gate, feeling quite glad it stood between him and the unexpected interlopers. Looking at the trio of children also trapped in the chamber, he mused, "Well, at least I have some very valuable captives here…"

He advanced toward the children. Elliot whimpered and ducked behind Alanis, who raised her cane threateningly.

"Don't you dare come any closer, you nasty old man!" she shouted. "You're dealing with the Saint Loa Knights here!"

"Alanis, stand down," Melville instructed. Stepping in front of his friends, sword drawn and ready before him, he went on, "This is my fight. Guillaume, for your lies about my father and the threatening of my friends, I challenge you!"

"Oh ho ho ho! You fancy yourself a knight, boy?" Guillaume twirled a bejeweled trident in his hand, then pointed the pronged end toward Melville. "Then come on, then, attack me! But I warn you, I won't hold back!"

In response, Melville charged the portly miser. He lashed out in a vicious strike, but to his surprise Guillaume sidestepped the maneuver. His foot shot out and crashed into the boy's chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. A sneer spread over Guillaume's face as he raised his trident, preparing to slice open the young swordsman's exposed side while he was vulnerable.

In mid-strike, however, the miser howled. A burst of pain blossomed in his wrist, and the trident dropped to the ground forgotten as he clawed at his aching hand. Something jutted from its side, and Guillaume broke part of it off before realizing he held the splintered shaft of an arrow in his shaking hand.

He immediately looked over at the gate to see Aila standing there, bow drawn, a second arrow already notched into place. She was holding her weapon so that the arrowhead was level with the center of one of the wide gaps in the iron gate. Her face was contorted into an animalistic grimace, eyes narrowed into slits of emerald fire.

"This one's for your head or chest if you try that again," she snarled through gritted teeth.

Guillaume choked and stammered incoherently. Cupping his other hand over his injured wrist, the portly miser babbled, tears pooling in his bulging eyes. Seeing the pain and shock etched in his features, Sergeant Jordi almost felt sorry for him.

Alanis and Elliot quickly raised the gate, allowing their friends to enter the cavern. Aila kept her bow trained on the merchant even while edging into the room and away from the tunnel.

"If you know what's best for you, you'll leave this place now and not come back," Jordi informed the sobbing wreck sternly. "If you threaten these kids again or try any other stupid tricks…"

Wheezing and wailing, cradling his injured wrist with his other hand, Guillaume half-stumbled, half-scrambled past the glaring group and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel. Aila didn't lower her weapon until she couldn't see the miser anymore. Then she shot the sergeant a reproachful look.

"Why did you let him go?! After what he did…"

"We should worry more about Melville now," Jordi cut off her complaint curtly.

To their relief, the leader of the Saint Loa Knights was not badly injured, aside from a bruise on his stomach where he'd been kicked. The gravest injury seemed to be to the boy's pride. He stared down at the ground, unwilling to meet the worried and relieved eyes of his friends.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I wasn't able to protect you…"

"What are you talking about?" exclaimed Elliot. "You were so brave! I couldn't even move, I was so scared, but you just attacked him, no problem!"

"He's right," Alanis nodded. "You were amazing, Sir Melville. It's no wonder you're the captain."

"That was very noble of you to protect your friends like that," Aila agreed, smiling at Melville. "I'm impressed."

"……" Melville looked at his companions for a long moment, then closed his eyes and lowered his head, murmuring, "Thank you…"

"Now come on!" Alanis grabbed her leader's hand and tugged it. "I think we're almost there!"

"That's right!" chimed Elliot. "The smell of water's really close by! Let's go see!"

"Lead the way, Captain," Sergeant Jordi prompted, helping the boy to his feet.

"Right," nodded Melville. Picking up his sword, he slipped it into its sheath, then turned to face his companions. "Let's go, Knights!"

He led the group toward the back of the cavern, where the rocks gave way to a cliffside. Sunlight streamed in through the opening, and Aila had to shield her eyes with a raised arm as she followed the trio of knights outside. It took everyone a few blinks to adjust to the difference in lighting, and then Elliot cried out:

"Melville! Look, look over there!"

The pudgy boy pointed out, across the span of water that stretched before the cliffs. Melville followed his gaze, and slowly a remarkable change spread over the boy's usually stern visage. His pale brown eyes lit up with awe, while a small smile of excitement gradually widened into a full-fledged grin.

"There it is, Melville," Aila declared, her own pleased smile brightening her face as she watched a variety of emotions play over his face. "Your father's ship…"

"I knew it," he whispered, awestruck by the sight. "I knew it was real. But, with what everybody kept saying, it started to sound…" he shook his head slowly, "…well, not so real."

"Hey, come on, give your dad a little more credit!" Elliot laughed. "You know he'd never lie to you!"

"Yeah, that's right!" Alanis nodded. "I told you we'd find it if we looked!"

"Yeah, we found it, together," and Melville looked back at his companions, a brilliant smile lighting up his face.

Sergeant Jordi nodded, then gazed out across the water while the others went back to staring. He had to admit, he hadn't been expecting to find much of anything on this little quest, other than eventual disappointment for the trio of young knights.

And yet, there it was off in the distance: the unmistakable profile of a wooden ship embedded in the side of a cliff, what remained of its sails billowing in the wind. Despite the fact that it was aground, even from this distance the sergeant could see that it was remarkably intact. It was definitely a memorable sight.

"One day…" Melville whispered, staring across the stretch of sea at the silhouette of the ship. "One day, I'll find my way to that ship, and meet my father there…"

"We'll help!" Elliot chimed. "It'll be another epic mission for the Saint Loa Knights, right, Alanis?"

Aila was the only one who caught the younger maiden's flinch, the miniscule moment of hesitation before the Silver Maiden and Sub-Captain of the Saint Loa Knights nodded her agreement.

"Yeah, of course!" she chirped, smiling at the boys.

"Perhaps," Sergeant Jordi agreed. "But for now, we should probably head back to Vinay de Zexay, don't you agree?"

Melville looked back at the mallard and nodded, then glanced back toward the ship one more time. His tan eyes were filled with undisguised longing, and shimmered in the sunlight as he stood memorizing every last detail of the beached ship's profile.

"Someday…"


	6. Ironhead Diplomacy

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Ironhead Diplomacy * ~

"Ah, we're finally back!" Elliot sighed with relief as the five adventurers passed through the gates into Vinay de Zexay.

Standing behind the blond child, Aila forced a smile she didn't feel. The huntress would have much preferred spending more time traveling with the trio of young knights, both because it would mean not having to stay in the stuffy capital city and because she had come to enjoy their company. However, the sergeant had insisted they return: two of the children had parents that were surely missing them, and they still had a mission to complete before returning home.

She regarded her younger companions, surprised by the realization that she would miss the little ironheads. She was almost tempted to ask them to accompany the sergeant and herself to the council building, but decided against it. Who knew how the creep who guarded the doors would take the 'barbarians' walking up with a bunch of kids?

(They'd probably think we'd taken them hostage or something… Man! Why can't ironheads just stay small and nice like these guys?! That would make dealing with them so much easier…)

"I guess, we part ways here," she addressed Melville. When the leader of the trio didn't respond, Aila looked at him oddly and asked, "Something wrong, Melville?"

Instead of replying directly to her question, Melville fixed his too-serious tan eyes on the other female member of their group.

"So, Alanis, when do you and your father have to leave Vinay?" he asked calmly.

Aila bit back a startled hiss, and Alanis jumped, then looked at Melville guiltily. Jordi raised an eyebrow at the girls' reactions, but chose not to get involved in the discussion.

"…So, you knew?" Alanis asked finally.

"Well, we found out," Elliot replied. He turned to face her, olive eyes sad and questioning behind his glasses. "Why didn't you tell us you were going to be leaving soon, Alanis?"

"I just thought…" her ashamed hazel gaze lowered to study her shoes, "…that you wouldn't want to be friends anymore, if you found out I had to leave…"

"It's okay, Alanis. Really." Melville looked seriously at his sub-captain. "You're a member of the Saint Loa Knights, remember? It doesn't matter if you're here or not. We're friends to the end."

"Yeah, that's right!" Elliot nodded enthusiastically. "Just be sure to come visit us, okay? I promise I'll practice and become an even better knight so we'll be ready to go on adventures together as soon as you return!"

"Elliot… Melville…"

Alanis looked at her comrades-in-arms, then rubbed her half-formed tears away with the back of one hand. She smiled shakily, and the boys returned her smile, Elliot with a wide grin, Melville with a slighter one.

Watching the trio reconcile, Aila couldn't help but smile herself. It was nice to know that the younger girl wouldn't be punished for her mistake of not telling her fellows about her problem. The archer glanced over at the sergeant, and was surprised to see he wasn't watching the children at all. Instead, the mallard's back was turned on the three, and he appeared to be staring down at the docks at the bottom edge of the city. It was difficult to tell because his helmet was casting a shadow over the top half of his face.

"…Sergeant?"

"…We really should get going," Jordi informed her bluntly, turning around to face the rest of the group. "We should see if the Zexen Council's ready to receive our message yet."

"Huh? Oh, right," nodded Aila, a bit hesitantly. Turning to face the Saint Loa Knights, she said, "Sorry, but duty calls. It was nice meeting you all!"

"Of course. Thank you for your help, Duchess Aila of Karaya," replied Melville seriously.

"And you too, Mister Duck!" chimed Alanis.

Again the sergeant favored her exclamation with a sideways glance and arched eyebrow, while beside him Aila tittered into a hastily raised hand. Yes, she would definitely miss having these kids around. They finished their farewells with a backwards wave while walking toward the Council building.

"…Hopefully, they won't have sent for us while we were out of the city," Jordi commented, striding down the cobblestone path. "The Zexen Council doesn't like being kept waiting. Keeping others waiting is fine, but having to wait themselves…"

Aila followed the sergeant toward the Zexen meeting hall with no small amount of reluctance. So far, her most positive experience with the people of Vinay de Zexay was her adventure with the Saint Loa Knights. Somehow, she doubted that anything this pretentious Council might decide to do to their Grasslander guests would be able to top the unexpected bonding with the kids.

Her trepidation only increased when they got close enough to the gates to see the same guard standing in front of the double doors. At least, it looked like the same guard to Aila: all ironheads tended to look the same to her, particularly the soldiers. She hung back a bit while the sergeant approached the guard, not particularly eager to get into another argument with him.

"I've been informed that you are indeed expected here," the sentinel informed the sergeant.

(…Well, I wasn't expecting that…)

Shouldering her quiver, Aila jogged over to stand behind the mallard, trying not to let her surprise show in her expression.

"They await you within," the soldier continued bluntly. "You may enter."

He stepped aside, and the doors swung open to admit the messengers, who quickly walked into the massive chambers. The doors closed behind them, but Aila barely noticed, far too absorbed in looking around their opulent surroundings. It was even more lavishly decorated then the entry hall had been in the Lightfellow residence, though the design was largely the same, right down to the double curved staircases leading up to the floor above. Rich shades of gold, silver, yellow, orange and purple decorated everything save the sparkling chandeliers suspended high overhead. However, Aila didn't see the one thing she expected to be there.

"Where's the Council?" she asked, turning confused green eyes to her companion.

"I tried to warn you," Jordi shrugged. "Officials do a lot of things to make themselves seem more important. Quite annoying!"

"What, so now we have to wait inside?" blurted an incredulous Aila.

"It seems that way…"

The mallard took a half-step away from Aila when he saw the archer's face contort violently. She quite frankly looked ready to smash something. Jordi sincerely hoped that either the Council deigned to see them soon, or weren't too attached to some of the more breakable objects within the enraged girl's reach…

"So sorry to have kept you waiting."

Sergeant Jordi and Aila turned to see a rotund nobleman dressed in dark purple garments descending the stairs toward them. If he truly was sorry, it was difficult to tell – his half-lidded eyes expressed only boredom and his tone of voice was detached. Upon reaching the floor, he crossed the room toward the messengers.

"I represent the Zexen Council. I'll be responsible for delivering your message."

The two travelers exchanged a glance. Aila looked confused, so Jordi stepped forward to address the newcomer.

"Representative?" he questioned.

"Yes, a representative," nodded the man.

"But Chief Jimba told us to deliver this to the Council directly!" protested Aila.

"Perhaps it is difficult for you to appreciate the time constraints on the Council." The go-between spoke slowly and deliberately, in the same tone he might use to lecture an errant child. "We deal with many people from outside our vast realm. We have little patience for that which disrupts normalcy."

"How dare you show us such disrespect!" spat the sergeant. "It was Grassland's protection that allowed Zexen to peddle its goods as far away as Jowston!"

"Need I remind you that we shared our profits with Grassland?" the official replied in the same maddening tone. "Perhaps you desired more."

"What does all that have to do with anything?!" Aila exploded. Rounding on the fat man, she shouted, "And how DARE you call the sergeant greedy, you purple pig?! He's not the one lounging around this city all day stuffing his face and gloating over piles of potch while ignoring everything else!"

The official's fleshy face flooded with color, nearly matching the rich purple shade of his ornate attire. Amused as he was by this, Jordi decided to step between the two before the archer's rage compelled her to move beyond verbal assault.

"…Now then, if you will please give me the message," the noble finally requested, clearly struggling to get past his indignation.

Sergeant Jordi reached into his jacket, pulled out the sealed tube containing the message, and handed it over to the official. It wasn't the first method he would have chosen had any other option presented itself, but there didn't seem to be any alternative. Besides, he'd had just about enough of this pompous windbag and the capital city in general.

"Consider the message received. I cannot spare further time, and bid you farewell," the noble said stiffly.

It took a considerable amount of willpower on Aila's part to not plant an arrowhead in the know-it-all's flabby fanny as he turned around and marched back upstairs. Instead, the archer settled for sticking out her tongue at his back. Childish a gesture as it was, it seemed fitting considering the manner in which he'd treated them.

The pair exited the lavish manor, both pleased and disappointed with how their mission had ended. The latter emotion stemmed from the nasty treatment they'd received; the former from the fact that now, at least, they could head homeward.

"Can we go now?" asked Aila.

"We should rest here before heading back," the sergeant responded. When the huntress shot him a harsh look, Jordi just shook his head and justified, "If we set out now, it'd be nightfall before we got halfway to Brass Castle. Besides, we've got an extra day booked at the inn. Might as well use it…"

"I guess so…" Aila reluctantly agreed.

The Grasslanders headed back toward the inn, ignorant of the glare the guard leveled at their departing backs as he returned to his post. Or perhaps they ignored it, used to the disdain most ironheads had toward them. At any rate, neither gave it a second thought, their minds already filled with thoughts of home…

~ * ~

A short time later, Sergeant Jordi reclined at the small table in their rented room, absently studying his sepia-toned reflection in the ale remaining in his half-drained mug. His halberd was balanced against the edge of the table just within reach of the mallard. Aila sat on the bed closest to the window, busily polishing her bow until the curved mahogany gleamed.

"I just can't believe how those creeps blew us off!" she exclaimed crossly. "I mean, if they were going to have one of their lackeys deliver the message to them, why keep us waiting?"

"Who know how ironheads think?" shrugged Jordi.

(Not that it isn't a very good question,) he added silently to himself, returning his attention to his drink.

He didn't want to let Aila know that he was more than a little concerned about the way the Zexens received their message. It wasn't just that there was the possibility they wouldn't look at it at all, though that weighed heavily on his conscience as well. More, it was the fact that the Council had forced them to wait a couple days before even taking the missive off their hands. If they'd taken it immediately, he and Aila could have been well on their way home by this point. Jordi doubted they wanted any 'savages' to stay in their beloved capital for any longer than necessary, so why…

His head snapped up when he caught the sound of something clanking outside. It was clear from the startled expression on Aila's face that she heard it as well. Pushing back from the table, Sergeant Jordi quickly and quietly moved to peer out the window.

The mallard's beak hardened into a thin line when he spotted several heavily armored ironheads lined up close to the inn. Two of the guards present were not clad in the standard-issue armor of Zexen soldiers; instead, their suits seemed custom-made, and both lacked the heavy headwear from which the Zexen infantry got their nickname.

"What's going on?" Aila whispered at the sergeant's ear, peeking over his shoulder at the knights, green eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.

"It seems we've worn out our welcome." Jordi returned to the table and picked up both his weapon and mug, draining his drink with a quick toss.

~ * ~

The innkeeper was busy pushing chairs back into place when the door banged open on its hinges. He straightened immediately, eyes widening as he recognized the massive, muscular figure that strode inside.

"Sir Leo!" he stammered, breaking into a cold sweat. "What can I do for you?"

"We received word that a couple of Grasslanders are staying here tonight," the heavy axeman replied in his deep, booming voice.

"Oh, are they criminals? It's so hard to know who to rent to these days…"

"Calm down, sir," soothed a smooth-voiced man with dark, spiked hair, stepping up behind the larger knight. "We simply need to speak to these visitors. Could you direct us to their chambers?"

"Of course, Sir Percival!"

The innkeeper quickly retreated behind his desk and retrieved his master keyring. Slipping off the correct key, he handed it over to the slender knight, stating, "It's the second room to the left when you first walk upstairs. Do be careful…"

"Naturally," Percival smiled while accepting the key. Glancing over his shoulder at the soldiers waiting outside the abode, he added, "Why don't you surround the premises, just in case, hmm?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" the soldiers saluted and dispersed.

The two members of the Mighty Knights of Zexen headed upstairs. Percival unlocked the door, then flattened himself against the wall when Leo pushed past into the room. The younger knight favored his bulkier companion with a droll look and entered calmly behind him.

"You needn't rush so, Leo," he chided. "The Zexen Council sent us here to detain a duck and a girl, not a horde of fierce warriors."

"There's nobody in here!" roared Leo, spinning around and glaring at his partner. "How can you act so nonchalant?!"

"You needn't get so upset, Leo. They can't have gotten far," Percival leaned against the doorframe and shook his head.

Leo glowered at the younger knight. He was over a decade older than this farmboy, yet the kid had the gall to act like he was the more experienced, level-headed knight! Pointedly ignoring Percival, he turned and surveyed the room for any sign of the savages. The only sign that anyone had been in the room recently was an empty mug lying on the tabletop, and a slight disturbance in the otherwise neatly tucked sheets of the bed closest to the window.

The window… was wide open. The curtains billowed in the night breeze, pale sheets against a black backdrop. Hurrying to the window, Leo stuck his head out and looked around furiously – just barely catching sight of a pair of figures, one squat and one slender, jogging through the open-air marketplace.

"Stop! Savages!"

Leo yanked his head back through the window, promptly banging it on the top of the sill in the process. Barking a nasty curse, he turned and thundered out the door and back downstairs, intent on tearing out of the inn and tracking down the fugitives as soon as possible.

"You don't have to be so nasty about it…" sighed Percival, before pushing away from the door and calmly following his partner.

~ * ~

Aila hastened to string an arrow into her bow while running beside Sergeant Jordi. The many curls that made up her ponytail flounced about as she cast a quick look over her shoulder. She glimpsed one of the helmet-less ironheads stick his head out the window, shout something at them, then bang against the top of the window when withdrawing back into the room.

"Wonder… what they want with us?" she panted, turning back to face the duck clan soldier beside her.

"I don't know… but I doubt ironheads in full battle gear are here to offer us an apology," Jordi responded.

Reaching the corner where Aila had listened to the minstrels play before, the duo skidded to a halt and took shelter behind one of the stalls, just long enough for a pair of soldiers to miss them completely and take off down the path to the north. Jordi waited until they had vanished into the night, then signaled for Aila to follow him down the other path.

Ironically enough, the only open route crossed right in front of the Zexen Council hall. There was no sign of the guard that had given them so much trouble when they jogged past, though neither was exactly inclined to look. Unfortunately, a group of guards spotted them as they passed the business district, and charged ahead, blocking the road.

"Halt!" one of the armored men shouted. "The Zexen Council demands it!"

"I've had enough with your stupid Council!" Aila snapped, training her sights on the apparent commander.

"My sentiments exactly, Aila," Jordi seconded. Holding his halberd out, he offered, "We were just on our way out of the city, anyway, so why don't you let us through and save everyone a lot of grief, alright?"

"Shut up, barbarian!" another soldier bellowed, charging forward with his sword drawn.

The sergeant parried his first strike, then slammed the shaft of his weapon against his opponent's helmet. The soldier staggered backward, and Jordi immediately knocked his legs out from underneath him, then slammed the hilt into his head again, rendering the grunt unconscious.

"Figures they wouldn't choose the easy way," he sighed.

Aila, meanwhile, fired continuously, peppering the other two guards with arrows as quickly as she could re-arm herself. The sergeant slipped up behind each man and knocked them out as well. He almost wished he could just kill them and be done with it, cruel as that sounded: it would be easier than trying to incapacitate each man without fatally wounded them.

Still, they couldn't afford this mess getting any worse. Right now, the Council didn't have any right he could think of to try and seize them; that would change if they murdered these guards, regardless of the circumstances.

After the three soldiers were unconscious, Sergeant Jordi quickly chanted. The rune in his right wing glowed blue, and both Grasslanders were briefly bathed with clear cerulean water. The mystical liquid washed away most signs of their struggle as it dripped down their bodies, pooling into a swiftly fading puddle at their feet.

As the familiar sensation of rapidly healing wounds rippled through his body, Sergeant Jordi hid a frown. Both he and Aila hadn't fully rested from the day's events, so they weren't at full potential to face this threat. He could sense he'd only be able to cast his healing spell once more without resting – and doubted the ironheads would give them time to rest.

(I almost wish I'd trained in Wind magic now… That sleep spell would come in very handy dealing with any more pesky guards…)

Still, there was no use lamenting the past. Gripping his halberd tightly, Sergeant Jordi nodded toward Aila, then took point, tearing down the streets just ahead of the archer.

They passed the Lightfellow residence without incident and started up the sharp incline leading toward the gates. Then Jordi skidded to a halt, biting back a vicious curse when he spotted a pair of ironheads running toward them.

"Sergeant!" Aila cried out behind him.

Casting a glance back at the Karayan maiden, Jordi felt his heart sink a little when he realized she wasn't merely reacting to the threat before them. A second pair of guards was rounding the corner and charging up the hill behind them, cutting off that possible escape route.

Standing back to back, the Grasslanders braced against their enemies' charge. Aila loosed an arrow at the nearest guard's head while Jordi swiped at the two approaching their front.

While the sergeant had the advantage of a weapon with a fair amount of range that also functioned well during close-combat, Aila did not. Instead, the archer had to dodge her enemy's lunges, dancing around as best she could while trying to guard Jordi's back and counterattack. She managed to knock one of her opponents down for the count before the other got lucky. The ironhead's blade grazed her leg, and Aila cried out and stumbled, her bow clattering against the cobblestones.

Hearing her shout, Sergeant Jordi hastily swept his halberd around and knocked both his adversaries on their backs, then turned to see the problem. Immediately he began to chant again, the Water rune shining underneath white feathers. Again the healing waters blanketed the pair, and Aila rolled clear of the soldier's charge. Unable to stop in time, her opponent crashed into the wall and slumped to the ground, out cold.

Aila, smirking at the stupid ironhead, turned to thank her companion. However, the words froze on her lips as her eyes widened with horror.

In his haste to assist the archer, Jordi had failed to ensure both of his opponents were incapacitated. One of them had risen to his feet and swung his sword viciously, burying it deep into the sergeant's flank. The mallard winced, but didn't cry out as the blade dug into his side.

It was Aila who let out a wordless screech of rage. Scrabbling to her feet, she charged the ironhead, unsheathing the knife she used only for hunting as she fell upon him. The soldier yanked his sword free from the sergeant's side, allowing his victim to slump to the ground, but wasn't able to bring it up in time to parry Aila's furious strike.

Her dagger slammed into the man's throat. Crimson froth bubbled in his gaping mouth, accompanied by a strangled gargle. His helmet slid back, but Aila didn't look at the face of the soldier she had just killed. Her attention was focused on the crumpled figure just beyond.

"Sergeant!" she cried, yanking her blade from its fleshy sheath and rushing to Jordi's side.

"I'm… fine, Aila," he responded, grinding his beak tightly.

The Duck Clan warrior clamped one wing over his wounded side and stumbled to his feet, balancing against the halberd he now gripped in his other hand. Aila hastily retrieved her bow and slung it back over her shoulder, then let the mallard lean against her for further support.

Peering around the corner, Aila swallowed hard. The two Zexen knights that were sans helmets were standing before the gates. The larger of the pair was leaning against the hilt of his axe, while the other balanced his sword on his shoulder. Fortunately, they were looking the other direction, and didn't see the Karayan girl quickly yank her head back out of sight.

"Now what, Sergeant?" she whispered, almost speaking to herself. "We can't face them like this…"

"Aila… you might… be able to… slip past…"

"What?!" Aila shot the sergeant a shocked look, one that swiftly faded into outrage as she hissed, "Oh, no you don't! Don't think for a second I'm going to leave here without you! We just have to think of something…"

"…Can't… stay here…" wheezed Jordi.

"I know, I know," Aila lamented, struggling to keep her balance. "Come on, I think I know where we can go…"

~ * ~

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The attic echoed with the force of the fierce pounding coming from outside. Melville groaned and rolled over, blinking rapidly as dreams of himself and his friends as finely armored knights fled from the racket. Sitting up, the boy yawned, running a hand through his tousled brown hair while lurching to his feet and stumbling over to the window.

"This had better be good, Elliot…" he muttered under his breath. A little louder, he called out, "What's the password?"

"What?!" cried an incredulous female voice from outside. "Oh… 'The Three Knights of Zexen', okay! Now hurry and open up!"

Melville blinked repeatedly. That didn't sound like Elliot at all. It didn't sound like Alanis, either. Come to think of it, it almost sounded like…

"Hurry UP!" the voice was both upset and frantic.

Spurred to action, the leader of the Saint Loa Knights hastily unlatched the window and let it swing open, then jumped back and goggled when Aila shoved Sergeant Jordi in front of her into the attic. The Karayan maiden then pulled herself through and shut the window/door behind her, fumbling with the latch.

"Uh, whuh?" the boy stammered, taken aback.

Then he saw the crimson fluid oozing through the sergeant's white-feathered fingers, and the way the mallard was hunched over, his face contorted with pain. Aila finally got the latch to click shut and turned to face Melville, leaf green eyes filled with panic, pleading.

"Help…" she whispered.


	7. The Honor of a Saint Loa Knight

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * The Honor of a Saint Loa Knight * ~

Melville looked back and forth between his two unexpected guests, unsure whether he should wait for an explanation or ask for one. It was only fair he be let in on the situation, seeing as how they'd interrupted his sleep by banging on the window and demanding entrance to the secret base.

Of course, it was clear something major had happened outside, forcing them to seek sanctuary in the first place. And in the condition they were in, Melville couldn't exactly deny them entrance. It simply went against the code of a noble knight.

He looked over at Sergeant Jordi in concern. Currently, the mallard lay heavily back against the wall, halberd resting in his lap, feathered fingers curled round its hilt. The deep gash in the soldier's side had been bandaged up, but unfortunately, Melville hadn't been able to offer much more help other than a few vials of D-type medicine. The weak healing droughts would at least ensure that the wound would heal, but the pain had only been dulled a bit.

The soft rasps of the sergeant's breathing were, for a time, the only sound in the attic chamber. Melville waited. Finally, Aila shifted her weight, folding her legs up in front of her and looping her arms loosely over her knees.

"I… guess we should explain what we're doing here, huh?" she commented awkwardly, looking over at the young Zexen.

Melville nodded, deep tan eyes filled with questions he didn't ask aloud. The Karayan archer sighed, grass green gaze returning to the dark mahogany floorboards in front of her feet.

"Well, we found out why the Zexen Council kept refusing to see us," she said in a bitter, biting tone. "They just wanted to make sure they had enough soldiers to try and overpower us."

"You mean you were attacked? By Zexen knights?" Melville stared in disbelief at the archer.

"What do you think caused that?" Aila gestured at the wound in her companion's side.

"B… But why?"

"That's a very good question," replied Sergeant Jordi. He shook his head while adding, "But I doubt the armed guards running around Vinay right now are hardly interested in explaining their reasoning to us."

"This has to be some sort of mistake!" Melville looked back and forth between the pair. "You two are good people, I know! This must be a misunderstanding…"

"What's to misunderstand? They came clanking up to the inn in full armor, then started chasing us all over town! They were the ones who pulled swords on us and said we were under arrest without even a word of explanation!"

Aila's hands clenched into fists, and the archer squeezed her eyes shut, fighting for self-control. The still-fresh image of steel sinking into the sergeant's side flashed through her thoughts, and she grimaced. If only she'd been faster to react, he might not have been injured at all…

"It isn't your fault, Aila," Jordi said, sensing the reason behind her grim silence. The huntress quickly looked over at him, and the mallard shook his head again. "I should have been able to see this coming, but…"

"How could you have known they'd pull such a dirty trick?" Aila spat bitterly.

Melville stared at the floor, shaking his head slowly. This all seemed so… unreal. While he knew he was getting only half of the story – who knew what explanation the Council might offer for this – it seemed incredible that the same two Grasslanders that had helped prove his father's word would turn out to be wanted criminals.

(This has to be some huge misunderstanding. What could they have done to provoke the Council, anyway?)

Even as the boy racked his mind for possibilities, however, a small, smarmy voice piped up in the back of his thoughts: (They're Grasslanders. That's reason enough in itself.)

Melville crushed that niggling voice viciously, absolutely disgusted by the notion. Aila and the Sergeant had proven already that they were noble, upstanding fellows, completely undeserving of such dismissal. He found the entire concept disgraceful, not even worth considering.

(Without their help, I might never have been able to see my father's ship with my own eyes. …For all I know, that could have been the last mission of the Saint Loa Knights…)

Melville closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head again to dismiss that line of thinking. He stood abruptly, startling Aila. The Karayan watched as the boy crossed the room, back turned to his guests.

"Melville?"

"Duchess Aila of Karaya. Sergeant Jordi of the Duck Clan."

Aila blinked, still unused to hearing such a title in front of her name. Jordi looked up, and Melville turned to face them. The serious expression he wore looked both out of place on the face of a twelve-year-old boy and, somehow, suitable for him.

"I, Melville, Swordsman of Rage and Captain of the Saint Loa Knights, offer my service to you. Allow me to assist you in leaving our fair city safely."

Aila gaped at him, green eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. There was quite simply no way she could have possibly heard him correctly, right…?

But the answer was as clear as the conviction shining in his brown eyes. Melville was dead serious. This wasn't an offer he had given lightly.

"No way!" she protested, springing to her feet. "Look, I just came here so we could hide out 'till there were less guards, not to drag you or the others into this!"

"Duchess Aila, you saved my life before," responded Melville calmly. He didn't drop his ready stance, nor avert his gaze from hers. "You have to let me repay my debt. I'm going to help you."

"But Melville…"

"Don't worry, I don't think we'll have to get Alanis or Elliot involved," he forged forward relentlessly. "Trust me, if we wait, it'll only get worse. I don't know what the Council wants with you, but I'm pretty sure they won't stop searching till they've caught you or have proof you're out of the city. You've got to let me help!"

"He's… right, Aila," huffed Jordi, and both turned to see the sergeant lurch clumsily to his feet.

"Sergeant, don't…" Aila started to protest, stepping forward.

But Sergeant Jordi waved the archer off. He pulled his halberd up beside him and leaned heavily against it, silently willing strength into his aching legs, ignoring the dull throbbing of his wounded flank.

"The Council is not going… to let this go," he informed his companions bluntly. "I doubt they're going to abandon whatever plot that made them delay taking our message and send guards after us. The longer we stay in the city, the harder it'll be to sneak out. We have to leave as soon as possible."

"But Sergeant…"

Ignoring Aila's weak protest, the mallard fixed his attention on the Zexen child. Melville returned the soldier's steady gaze, his posture stiffening.

"Melville. You must understand how dangerous this is. Citizen of this city or not, if the guards see you helping us, there's a very good chance they'll attack."

"I know." Melville nodded, stating confidently, "But after all you and Duchess Aila did to help find my father's ship, I can't just let you be treated so unfairly… even if it is the Zexen Council's fault."

"…All right," Sergeant Jordi closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "If you're really willing to go through with this…"

"Yeah, I am."

"Melville, you…!"

"Duchess Aila," Melville turned back to the Karayan.

Her hands briefly clenched then fell limp at her sides as the archer bowed her head, realizing she couldn't win. The leader of the Saint Loa Knights was not about to be denied his chance to assist his comrades. After a moment, she looked back over at the boy and forced a half-smile.

"Fine then. But… could you not call me Duchess anymore? Please?" she requested.

"…All right… Aila…"

"You'd better leave a note here in case Alanis or Elliot comes to check on you while you're out," Jordi instructed him. "This may take a while…"

"Okay."

Melville nodded again. As the young Swordsman of Rage hurried to gather his things and write a message for the rest of his knights, Sergeant Jordi leaned back up against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Aila glanced over at her companion, concerned.

"…It's risky, but we have no real choice," he muttered, staring down at the floor through nearly closed violet eyes. "We can't afford to tarry here any more than the Zexen Council forced us to…"

The fingers of his right hand tightened around the hilt of his halberd, and his gaze shifted to the back of his wing. With all of his healing reserves exhausted, the duck clan warrior had few options left. Any assistance, even that from a child – albeit a child who had already proved he was a decent swordsman – could mean the difference between escape or capture, or worse…

He closed his eyes tightly, struggling to hide a grimace. That certainly didn't mean he had to like the situation…

~ * ~

Melville quickly gathered his supplies and, after disturbing a few spare vials of D-type medicine to his companions, the three slipped out of the secret base and into the darkened streets of Vinay de Zexay. Though Aila and the sergeant had already knocked out a few of the troops making rounds through the city, there were still several patrols they had to avoid. Fortunately, Melville used his knowledge of the alleys and narrow passages between the tightly packed houses to lead his Grasslander friends closer to the exit without any nasty incidents.

It was only when they neared the gates that the tricky part began.

The helmet-less ironheads still stood before the mysteriously open gateway. Obviously they felt their presence would be safeguard enough, and the open doors were meant to entice the foolish barbarians to press their luck.

Melville stared at the pair, then turned shocked tan eyes on his companions.

"Those are Zexen Knights!" he hiss-whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to alert anyone to their presence behind the bushes.

"Yeah, we know," Aila commented. "Just like the rest of them were…"

"No, no, no. Don't you know who they are?"

The blank look the archer gave him clearly indicated a negative response. The sergeant was watching the pair intently and showed no signs of answering the boy's question.

"Those are two members of the Six Mighty Knights of Zexen!" Melville informed them. Pointing to the trimmer man on the left, he hissed, "That's Sir Percival Fraulein, the Swordsman of Gale, and that…" his finger tracked over to the behemoth grinding the hilt of his axe into the ground "…is Sir Leo Gallen, the Heavy Axeman!"

"Okay…" Aila blinked at him. "Is that bad?"

Melville gaped at her, his mouth worked silently for a couple seconds before he shut it. The hand he'd been gesturing with went to rub his forehead.

"Only for anyone they've been sent after," he replied shortly.

"Ah…"

Aila chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully as she considered this new information. Her fingers itched to string an arrow up immediately and peg one of the men in his vulnerable head, but she restrained herself, fully aware that doing so would only give away their position.

"Melville. If you want to leave, now's the best time," Sergeant Jordi told the lad, looking over his shoulder at him. "We may be able to sneak out from here…"

"And what'll happen if they spot you?" retorted Melville defiantly.

"If they do…" Jordi's right hand squeezed his halberd's shaft a bit tighter.

"No. You can't fight. In your condition, there's no way you'd be able to stand up against even one of them."

Melville couldn't keep a prideful undercurrent from entering his tone even as he regarded his friends. To be perfectly honest, he didn't figure they'd stand a chance even if both Grasslanders were in peak condition. But he wasn't about to admit that now. They were in too bad a situation already without having him insult their abilities – feeble as they were in the face of two of the great Zexen Knights.

"So what are we supposed to do, then? Turn ourselves in?" scoffed Aila. "Like there's any chance of that…"

"No," Melville shook his head and moved to stand. While crouching, he looked over at the others. "I'll distract them for you, okay? You should be able to slip through then. Don't worry, they're not looking for me, remember?" he reminded Aila when she looked fit to protest. "I'll be careful."

"Melville…"

The boy smiled, then ducked around the edge of the bush and dashed to the other side of the street. Stopping there, he cast one last glance over at where the Grasslanders were hiding, then took a deep breath and walked into the main plaza.

(Okay, Melville, act natural, natural… Don't look over at them anymore, just act like you're out for a walk… a completely normal, relaxed walk. Sure, lots of Zexens take walks when it's a nice night out like this, right, right! Not too fast, not too slow…)

Feigning nonchalance – and resisting the urge to whistle knowing _that_ would only look suspicious – Melville meandered along, soon crossing into the view of the knights.

Leo immediately sprang to attention, grabbing his axe up in both hands and hoisting the blade in the direction of the intruder.

"Halt!" he bellowed.

Melville jumped, genuinely startled by the vehemence of the command.

(That's okay, that's okay! _Anyone'd_ be surprised to hear somebody shout to them like that!) he hastily assured his thumping heart. (Especially if it was one of the Six Mighty Knights. Especially if he wasn't doing anything wrong.)

"Ah, Sir?" he responded, in a voice that was maybe a little too squeaky and frightened for his tastes. Fighting for control over his own voice, Melville turned to face the pair of guards and strode over, asking, "Is something wrong, s-sir? Sirs? Sir… Leo? And Sir Percival?"

He was careful to put real surprise into his tone as he recognized the knights for the 'first time'. At least he didn't need to fake his anxiety and enthusiasm at running into two men he thought of very highly…

"Yes, that's right," Percival replied, turning to face the lad. The younger knight smiled charmingly, sensing that this kid was an admirer of the Mighty Zexen Knights. Even so, he inquired, "May I ask why a young boy such as yourself is out wandering the streets on such a night?"

"Well, S-Sir Percival," Melville prayed the Swordsman of Gale would take his slight stutter as mere nervousness at meeting him, "I just thought it was a nice night for a stroll." Gesturing towards the sky, he forged on, "After all, the sky is clear, the moon is out with the stars…"

"Ah, yes, it's a beautiful night indeed," Percival tilted his head back and smiled. With a sly sideways glance toward the boy he sighed, "The perfect night to take that lovely young lady you fancy out for an evening constitutional…"

"Huh? W, what?" Melville didn't need to fake the confused blush that spread swiftly over his nose and cheeks at that statement. Shaking his head quickly, "I, I don't have…"

"I suppose you wouldn't," lamented Percival, lightly shaking his head in mock dismay. "Well, you're a bit too young to be thinking about such things anyway. You'll understand better once you're a bit older…"  


Melville looked down at his shifting feet uncomfortably. He deliberately ignored the impulse to glance toward Aila and Sergeant Jordi when they crossed into his line of vision. The huntress was again supporting the sergeant as best she could, the two keeping to the shadows as much as possible as they crept toward the gates.

"Percival…" a low, menacing growl came from Leo's direction.

Ignoring the axeman's warning grumbles, the Swordsman of Gale again made an exaggerated sigh. He patted the top of Melville's head, ruffling the already tousled brown locks teasingly.

"Alas, even I cannot take advantage of such a fine opportunity tonight, for duty calls." Aiming a smirk at his fuming partner, he added, "And duty will not be denied its due…"

"Duty?" echoed Melville. "Why, what's going on?"

"Nothing to be concerned about. The Council merely wants us to detain a couple of visiting Grasslanders for a while…"

Melville nodded; trying not to look toward the gates or at the same fugitives Sir Percival was talking about sneaking to the exit. Just a little more and they'd be out, and he'd be able to excuse himself from the conversation and…

"Enough, Percival!" Leo stormed over to stand between the chatting Swordsman of Gale and his startled young audience. Facing his fellow knight, he growled, "We have no time for this! We should be looking for those outlaws, not standing around blabbing our mission to some street rat!"

"Leo, you're being rude, you know," huffed Percival, though his good-natured smile remained. "I was only trying to put this young man's mind at ease…"

"Take something serious for once, why don't you! If the duck and the bitch escape, the Council will blame us for letting them slip through our fingers!"

"Just because you're annoyed at a girl you haven't even met doesn't give you the right to insult her." Percival looked genuinely peeved at the axeman's outburst. "For all we know, she could be a very nice young woman…"

"Feh. A barbarian bitch, and a sneaky one at that."

Melville risked a quick glance at the gates. Aila and the sergeant were standing in the gates, but the archer had frozen at the insult. Melville didn't have to see her face to know she hadn't taken it well. Frantic to see his friends escape, he quickly tried drawing attention back to himself.

"Um, Sir Leo…" he hurriedly stepped up and tugged on one of the larger man's gauntlets.

"I've had enough of you--!"

Roaring, Leo spun around and struck Melville across the side of his face with the back of his other hand. Though the axeman hadn't put his full strength behind the clout, the force of the blow was more than enough to knock the boy flat on his backside. The metal gauntlet raked against the sensitive skin of his cheek, and Melville cried out more from shock than pain, though that was definitely a factor.

"Hey, now, Leo--!" Percival protested.

However, the younger knight's upset exclamation paled in comparison to the enraged screech that came from behind them.

"Damned knights! You'd even strike a child from your own city if it suited you?! I can't believe you!"

Leo and Percival spun around to behold an absolutely furious Karayan huntress standing in the middle of the open gateway glaring daggers at them even while supporting a clearly injured Duck Clan soldier against her side.

"Savages!" Leo barked, shooting a glare in his partner's direction. "They must have paid that brat to distract us! Damn you, Percival!"

The axeman hefted his weapon in both hands even while reprimanding the other knight. Belatedly Aila realized that insulting the powerful warriors she and the sergeant were trying to avoid fighting was probably not the smartest move she could have made. The archer fumbled for her bow, a difficult task considering how she was supporting her injured companion.

Apparently sensing her problem, the sergeant pushed away from her, planting the tip of his weapon into the ground for a brace. Jordi bowed his head, watching the knights from underneath the cover of his slanted helmet, breathing hard, sliding his right hand up higher on his halberd's shaft.

Melville pushed up off the hard cobblestones of the plaza, watching in horror as his plan to protect his friends rapidly disintegrated into nothing. There was no way Aila'd be able to hold off against Sir Leo's charge alone…!

"No!" he screamed.

Lunging forward, he drew his sword from its sheath and swiped at the axeman's legs in a desperate attempt to throw him off. There was no way even his father's old sword would be able to make more than maybe a slight dent in the Zexen Knight's armor, but all Melville could think of was trying to delay Leo's assault in any way possible.

Percival caught a glimpse of Melville's thrust out of the corner of his eye and slowed his own rush toward the pair, surprised. Obviously there was far more to this situation than Leo's assumption: no child would attack somebody -- especially a fully armed knight they clearly admired -- to protect mere strangers who'd paid them to act as a distraction.

There wasn't any time to ruminate on the puzzle at present, however. Leo didn't even seem to register the fact that the urchin had attacked him and was bearing down upon the Grasslanders.

Aila managed to notch an arrow and immediately aimed for the charging axeman's head. Her hands were shaking so badly that she was having trouble keeping it trained in the right direction, however. Her widened green eyes dilated as he closed the gap between them, and she loosed the arrow…

…Only to watch it sail past his head, nearly clipping his left ear.

She didn't have any time to curse the mistake, as the warrior lifted his axe high overhead and let out a challenging bellow. Aila reflexively raised one arm in front of her face in a futile attempt to ward off the coming blow, a scream stuck in her throat.

A sudden flash of blue light and the equally sudden rush of chill air sweeping toward her was all the warning Aila got before row upon row of frozen spikes erupted from the ground before her. Leo screamed when the icy stakes impaled his armor, knocking him backward, away from his would-be victim.

Aila gasped, whirling to see Sergeant Jordi slump to his knees. The mallard's breathing rasped worse than before, and his raised wing lowered to fold over his aching side. Squinting through the pain, he looked back at the archer and the gates.

"Run!" he snapped.

That snapped Aila out of her surprise. The huntress immediately rushed to his side, forcing him to wrap one wing around her waist before sprinting off as fast as she could with him leaning against her.

Back near the gates, Melville hesitated only a moment before dashing forward. He darted nimbly past Percival and Leo, both knights too startled by the magical counterattack to grab the boy. Once he cleared them, he bowed his head and concentrated solely on running, nothing else. Thinking could come after he was out of immediate danger.

Leo regained his balance, only to discover it was a little late to do anything. The axeman immediately threw down his weapon, threw his head back, and vented his feelings to the world at large:

"DAMN--IT--!!!"

"Temper, temper, Leo," chided Percival, massaging his forehead with the tips of two gauntlet-clad fingers. (This is going to be a bear to explain to the Council, isn't it?)

~ * ~

The fugitives didn't slow down until they passed into the boundaries of the Zexen Forest, the cultivated fields outside Vinay de Zexay giving way to taller grass and dense rows of trees and shrubbery. Aila ground to a halt then, allowing the sergeant and herself time to breathe. Jordi immediately released her waist in favor of gripping his halberd with both hands, his rough respiration gradually becoming more even as he recovered.

"We… should be… okay for now," he panted momentarily. "But we should… get back to Karaya Village as… soon as possible…"

"Yeah…"

Shaking her head, Aila then straightened and turned around, leaf green eyes filling with frustration.

"Why'd you have to go and follow us?!" she berated, stomping one foot down for extra emphasis.

"Well, I couldn't exactly head back to the base," responded Melville bluntly, "Not when I know you guys are still in trouble. I promised I'd help, remember?"

"Yeah, you helped us get out of Vinay," Aila spat. "That was supposed to be all…"

"No way," Melville shook his head. "The Sergeant's still hurt, and I know it's still a long way to the Grasslands."

"We can handle ourselves--!"  


"Let him be, Aila," interrupted Sergeant Jordi. "What's done is done. We can't send him back to Vinay now, not while that Sir Leo's likely out for blood over our escape. Besides," he pushed upright and turned his solemn stare into the depths of the forest, "I'm worried about Karaya more than anything else right now."

"What do you mean, Sergeant?" Aila asked.

"It's clear now the Zexen Council was trying to delay our return by any means necessary." Jordi looked over his shoulder at the archer. "I doubt that bodes well for the upcoming treaty negotiations. The sooner we can get back and warn Chief Jimba about how we were treated, the better."

Color flooded from Aila's face as the sergeant's words slammed into her. Melville shot the huntress a concerned look; he didn't understand fully what was going on, but had seen and heard more than enough to know things weren't looking too great right now. Aila quickly shook off her shock and shot the duck clan soldier a serious stare.

"Let's hurry," she said.

"Agreed."

The trio set off into the forest, weapons at the ready. Aila took point, racing forward as fast as she could without leaving the injured sergeant and young ironhead lad behind. Her churning emotions focused on the driving thought of her homeland in danger, of the traitorous Council setting their soldiers upon her people.

(The village… Mother… Father… Chief… We're coming as fast as we can…! Please, spirits, see to their safety until then…!)


	8. Visitors Unanticipated and Uninvited

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Visitors Unanticipated and Uninvited * ~

Lulu was bored.

Extremely bored. Excruciatingly bored. Utterly and entirely bored.

The boy lay upon the massive boulder that marked the western outskirts of the tribal village. The slab was deeply entrenched in the earth, grass springing up around it, a natural defense as well as a place where those attuned to such matters informed others that the spirits sang especially loud and clear.

It also made an excellent sunbathing spot.

That was exactly what Lulu was using it for. The boy was sprawled out across one of the smoother, flatter areas on its surface, the stone cool underneath his back. His arms and legs braced against the rock, fingers slightly spread, tapping intermittently in time with the vague melodies he hummed briefly. The tunes were half-formed, much like most thoughts in his mind save for one underlying theme.

(This is so boring… Nothing ever goes on here…)

Idly, his thoughts drifted toward the subject of Aila and her assignment to accompany Sergeant Jordi on his message-bearing mission. The pair had been gone for quite some time. True, Lulu didn't know exactly how long it took to cross from the Grasslands all the way into the heart of the ironheads' territory, but still, surely it couldn't have taken that long, correct?

It wasn't like he was jealous of her or anything… okay, so he was. So what?! He had every reason to envy Aila for what she'd been entrusted with! It just wasn't fair!

Lulu understood why the huntress had needed to tag along with the sergeant on his trip to the ironheads' capital: the bunch of chiefs that governed the Zexen territories as a whole were too thick-headed to accept that a Duck Clan warrior could serve as a Karayan messenger. That was probably because the Council couldn't seem to get along with anyone else very well. Why should they believe a bunch of so-called barbarians would be able to live in harmony with others when they themselves couldn't?

(But why did Aila get to go and not me? I'm the Chief's brother, after all! That would've been proof enough for the Council, right? Besides, Aila didn't even want to go anyway!)

Lulu, meanwhile, had definitely wanted to go. It sounded like the perfect excuse to see what life was like outside the Grasslands. He wanted to find out just what was supposed to make the way the ironheads lived so grand, why they seemed to think they were so much better than anyone from the Clans.

But, no, Luce refused to let him go off on this adventure. Nothing he'd said or done could sway his mother's stubborn stand on the issue. There was no way she'd let her precious youngest son, her _'little baby'_, head off on even the most important and exciting of quests. The way she coddled him, it was like he'd never handled a weapon in his life, like he was some completely defenseless little clay doll that'd break the instant it strayed from her side.

Rolling over so that his stomach rested against stone, Lulu rested his chin in the small space between his crossed arms and sighed. It was too bad it was Fubar's turn to serve as lookout for the village; it meant he couldn't even run off with his pal and spend the afternoon exploring what little he could.

(Still, there's nothing keeping me from at least staying with him…)

At any rate, anything was better than just lying around while absolutely nothing remotely interesting happened. Pushing up off the rock, Lulu slid down to land on both feet. The boy then started toward the village gates, figuring that at least he'd be able to slip off with Fubar once his shift ended. Somehow, though, knowing that most likely Aila was having an interesting time exploring the Zexen capital didn't improve his mood any as he trudged along the well-worn dirt paths, absently kicking at pebbles as he went along.

~ * ~

Fubar sat just outside the set of poles that served as the village 'gates': there were no doors or walls to speak of surrounding the Karayan settlement, for the tribe saw no need for such precautions. Round ebony eyes gazed out over the road winding toward the entrance, following the simple dirt path up the hill it wove alongside until it curved out of sight.

Though the village was in no way the fortress that Brass Castle or even Vinay de Zexay had been turned into, that didn't mean it didn't have its own special precautions set into place. Archers and warriors patrolled just outside its perimeters, always searching for the slightest sign of anything amiss. Most travelers knew it was best to simply stick to the main road that wove around the cliffside and down into the valley where the village rested.

Fubar was another method of keeping the peace. Sometimes those who would think of threatening the clan would reconsider their options after getting a good look at him. Few were particularly eager to learn just how destructive his talons and beak could be if anyone dared threaten his homeland.

Ever since his egg had first been discovered by some hunters fifteen years ago, the Karayans had raised Fubar to help protect the village. Having a powerful griffon around helped put some minds at ease, not to mention it was a slap in the face to the Zexen Council. The ironheads simply didn't have the touch to handle such divine creatures of the wild.

Actually, few among the Karayans were capable of keeping Fubar under control at times as well. It was no accident that Chief Jimba happened to be one of those who could approach the griffon when the beast slipped into one of his more feral moods. Fubar was practically tamed to his hand, and to the hands of his mother and younger brother.

Fubar liked them because they didn't try to treat him as a beast of burden. His latest fit had occurred when a couple of upstart warriors decided, after a few drinks, they could pile onto the griffon's back and force him to fly them around. One of those drunkards now sported a lovely scar across the upper half of his left arm for his presumptions.

Snorting, Fubar pawed at the ground, shifting his weight back and forth, his talons digging into the dirt. The griffon stretched his wings out, flexing them idly while fighting the urge to lay down. He knew enough of the habits of the chieftain's kid brother to be aware that the boy was likely to want to run around the plains after his friend was finally freed from guard duty. It would be nice to rest first, especially since little actually happened while he was standing at the gates.

Fubar's head bobbed, the tips of his wings drooping slightly as he warred with the desire to get some sleep before the boy showed up. He was fun, but he was also annoyingly loud and shrill at times, and didn't seem to always understand when Fubar would rather go hunting or rest for a bit…

The griffon's head dipped further, then abruptly shot up at the same time that he sprung to his feet. Unfamiliar voices tickled at his sensitive hearing, growing louder and more strange-sounding as their owners drew nearer. His mane of fluffy white feathers ruffled up, Fubar assumed a defensive stance, his earlier drowsiness forgotten. The voices of the intruders drew nearer, and Fubar stood before the entrance, listening, tensing, waiting, watching…

~ * ~

"We're just moving from one Clan to another, huh? Think the Karayans'll actually listen to what we have to say before skewering us with arrows?"

"That'll probably depend on whether or not you can keep your yap shut long enough for them to actually listen to the rest of us," responded a blunt female voice.

"Feh," snorted a male voice, this one far deeper than the first one. "Good luck on that ever happening."

"Why you…"

"Settle down, Ace," commanded a husky male voice that sounded bored, detached, and used to being obeyed.

"Right, Boss…"

The speaker then sighed deeply, an exaggerated noise, and stretched lazily. Hands covered by black gloves that only exposed thick fingers from the knuckles upward reached toward the sky before folding behind the man's head, ruffling his already messy dark brown hair. He looked every bit the part of a ruffian, from the leather breastplate strapped over his tan and black tunic to his camouflage pants to the metal plates on his boots to the twin sais dangling from his belt.

His companions were a decidedly peculiar group. Each bore little resemblance to the others save for the common thread of having distinct styles of dress. Their outfits stood out even more compared to that of the native Karayans, a far cry from the leathers the tribesman favored.

The man walking immediately alongside the swarthy fellow appeared to be the oldest of the group. The neatly trimmed moustache underneath his long nose punctuated his stern, sharp features, and equally thick black eyebrows were drawn down over his narrow, disapproving dark eyes. The rest of his thin raven hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. His garb was simple, matching dark violet jacket and pants decorated only by yellow trim and the various bead necklaces looped around the thick collar.

The only female of the group also cast a scornful look back at the ruffian, rolling her deep brown eyes when she turned her attention back to the road ahead. An absent flick of her gray-gloved fingers flipped the feather ornament in her short ebony hair back. The white feathers matched the fringe on her turquoise jacket and the tight tunic worn underneath. A sword dangled from her belt, and it was clear from the way her other hand rested on its hilt that she knew how to use it very well.

Beside her walked a man with even darker, unkempt sable hair, several strands of which hung over the simple swatch of black fabric covering his right eye socket. His dark overcoat was lined with plates of metal that were bolted together in such a fashion that the armor was flexible as well as protective. He also carried a sword at his side, though the sheath was noticeably wider and longer than the one that hung at his female companion's side.

The last member of their assemblage walked silently behind the rest of them, his expression unreadable. A huge contraption rested upon his deceptively slender back: there must have been at least some muscle hidden underneath his long blue coat, for how else could he carry such a weapon without buckling under its weight? A white bandanna kept his pale fringe of light blonde hair out of his blue eyes, which betrayed no emotion one way or the other over his companions' argument.

Despite his clear inclination to stay out of whatever squabbles his teammates might get into, there didn't appear to be much chance that the group would stay quiet for long. Indeed, shortly the ruffian in leather gave a impatient snort, flexing his arms back while keeping his folded palms pressed against the back of his messy brown locks.

"So just how many Clan Chiefs do you know, Boss?" he called to the one-eyed man in front of him. "First Zepon, then this guy. What's next, are we gonna head on up to the Duck Clan Village to pay a visit to your old friend Chief Donal?"

"At least Geddoe has some friends in high places," the man striding beside him interjected, following this with a mutter under his breath of, "Unlike some cretin I happen to know…"

"Oh, nice." Ace shot his partner a dark look, but the irritation shadowing his swarthy face became a humored smirk as he stated, "But it's nice to know we have some clout with the locals if you get drunk off your magic-blasting ass again and wreak the local tavern…"

"Shut up!" the older traveler snarled, aiming a swipe at the ruffian's head and scowling when he scuttled out of the way. "You're just as bad as I am, you know!"

"I never blasted the barkeep because they weren't gonna serve me liquor anymore!"

"Only because you don't have any element runes on you! Besides, I only did that once!"

"Once was more than enough! We can't afford you pulling that sort of stunt again, Joker! You're lucky the guy decided not to have us arrested for it!"

The two continued to argue, prompting the female member to roll her eyes again at their childishness. She cast a glance past them to the boy in blue, idly wondering if she should explain what they were going on about. After all, the incident had occurred before the young marksman was drafted into their unit…

But she couldn't tell from the blonde's neutral expression whether or not he even cared about the quarrel. His pale blue eyes were averted to one side; apparently the wispy clouds of dust wafting along the side of the path were infinitely more interesting to yet another feud between the ruffian and the old man.

She started to chide the pair again, but her lips hadn't formed the first syllable before the man beside her lightly gripped her wrist. Turning back toward him, she saw him incline his head slightly forward, silently signaling her to turn her eyes back to the road. Doing so, she immediately saw the problem, and reacted immediately.

"Heads up, guys, we've got company!" she warned, whipping out her sword.

The quarreling pair stopped in mid-rant and turned widened eyes toward those before them even as she and the other sprang to one side. The expressions on their faces were almost comical when they beheld the squalling spear of claws and feathers barreling toward them on fully spread wings.

"Oh SHIT!" they screamed at practically the same time and volume.

With an enraged screech, the beast landed where seconds before the intruders had been standing. Its front talons ripped deep gashes in the dirt path, its furiously beating wings spreading clouds of dust everywhere. Realizing it hadn't landed upon any of its targets, the griffon's head swiveled about, dark eyes searching for any sign of its prey.

Fubar knew the strange voices had come from this direction. When the sources came into his view he'd immediately recognized them as not belonging to the village. They weren't wrapped in sheets or accompanying large carts the way peaceful visitors came. Instead they carried weapons -- those things that hurt when you were poked with them. That made them threats to his home, threats Fubar was going to deal with.

A bolt whizzed just over his beak, and the griffon spun to see the invaders gathered together. One of them, the pale one in the blue coat, was pointing some hefty, strange-looking device at him. It resembled the bows carried by some of the hunters enough for Fubar to understand it was the source of what had nearly clipped his beak.

"Kuueeeeee--!" he screeched angrily, beating his spread wings and turning the rest of his body to face the trespassers.

"Man, this thing's pissed!" observed one of the men -- the one with the voice Fubar found the most annoying. Yanking his small weapons from their sheaths, he spun the three-pronged dagger-things in both hands. Looking over at the dark-haired warrior with the shiny metal sewn onto his coat, he asked, "You want us to take this thing out, Boss?"

Fubar didn't wait to listen to whatever the other might have to say. The griffon had his own views on the matter. With another ear-piercing shrill, the beast sprung back into the air, beating his wings savagely.

"Try not to hurt it too badly," 'Boss' instructed the rest of his group, his voice remarkably calm considering the fact they were being attacked by a mad griffon. "I believe this one happens to belong to the Chief's family…"

"Lovely…" the female muttered under her breath. Eyeing the flapping, screeching terror before them, she warned, "I don't think it's going to afford us the same courtesy. Watch out!"

The fierce pounding of Fubar's wings raised a column of wind before him, and the griffon let out another shriek before sending the blade of air flying toward its enemies. Again the group moved to scatter, but this time not all of them were able to dodge the current. It clipped one of the ruffian's legs and flung him roughly into the jagged cliffside. One of his sais clattered to the ground right before he fell beside it, the wind knocked out of his lungs.

"Kuuueee!" Fubar shrieked, victoriously, lunging for the fallen man.

But before talons could pierce flesh, a streak of crimson flame burst in front of him. Fubar squawked and recoiled, veering away to avoid the blaze. The old man smirked and lowered his raised palm.

"Got any complaints about my magic now?" he asked smugly.

"Your timing could be a little better, Joker!" shot back his partner, shooting him a glare even while standing up and retrieving his dropped sai. "You nearly roasted me with that shot too, ya know!"

Joker muttered something unintelligible about 'ungrateful louts' before both men turned back to face the griffon. The flying beast looked even more pissed that the wind blade hadn't taken out even one of its opponents. It continued to shriek angrily, its shrill screeches slicing through the air.

The two men tensed to attack, but the female waved toward them, signaling to knock it off. It wasn't difficult to understand why: their adversary's screams were doing a wonderful job of attracting the villagers. Several Karayans had already gathered, with most of the adults and several of the children sporting weapons. The ruffian gave a shrug and sheathed his own weapons, aware it wouldn't help anything to keep them out.

The man called 'Boss' stepped forward, addressing the crowd at large.

"We have an urgent message for your Chief. Where is he?"

"What do you want with my brother?"

A boy with bright red bangs elbowed his way past two archers near the front of the crowd and approached the group. He regarded the five visitors warily with his huge green eyes, one hand resting on the hilt of the dagger at his side.

"Who are you, and what do you want with my brother?" he repeated.

"…Geddoe," the one-eyed man replied after a pause. Gesturing back toward the rest of his group, he added, "My companions and I came from the Great Hollow to speak with Chief Jimba. Will you take us to him, kid?"

The lad's face scrunched up into a distrustful grimace.

"I'm not a kid," he grumbled, then added, a bit louder, "and I'm not so sure I wanna take you to see Jimba. Why should I?"

"Because it's very important that we speak to him as soon as possible," the woman replied, stepping forward and kneeling so that she was on the same level with the kid. "Can you at least run and tell him that Geddoe is here to speak with him?"

"……" The native boy looked at her for a long moment, turning his head slightly to one side. "You'll wait for me to get back?"

"Get back?" she echoed, a little concerned. (That didn't exactly sound too promising…)

"What is going on over here? Lulu, are you there?"

When that deep female voice boomed out over the crowd, the boy stiffened. Then his shoulders slumped, and he rolled his round green eyes, trading his suspicious expression for an annoyed one. The crowd of villagers began dispersing, allowing a large, kindly-looking woman to make her way over to the visitors.

"Well, now," she stated upon spotting the travelers, folding her arms in a not-unfriendly fashion over her ample bosom. "What have we here? Lulu, are you and Fubar pestering these poor travelers?"

"Not hardly, Mom!" shouted a red-faced Lulu. "They were asking me to go get Jimba for them. They said it was important."

"Really, now…" Turning to Geddoe, she said, "My name is Luce; I'm Chief Jimba and Lulu's mother. I'm afraid the chief isn't here to speak with you right now. If you don't mind waiting, you can stay at our home. I'll show you the way if you want…"

"That would be fine," responded Geddoe with a curt nod.

A broad smile spread over Luce's face, her friendly eyes lighting up at the promise of having company to entertain. It would be so nice to get to know these travelers that had come seeking out her eldest son. Such a shame this one didn't seem eager to open up to her, or much of anyone, for that matter. Already formulating plans on how she might be able to change that, Luce turned to her younger son.

"Coming, Lulu?" When the boy answered her question with a dark glare, Luce shrugged lightly and invited, "Well, if that's the way you want it, then go ahead and run along. Just don't stray too far, all right? Our guests are probably hungry from their trip, so I'll likely be fixing dinner soon."

With that, Luce placed one arm over Geddoe's shoulders, the other around those of the only female of the group, and started guiding them toward her home, chattering happily. Lulu turned and stomped over to where Fubar was. He ran both hands over the griffon's back, soothing the still riled beast and smoothing out his soft feathers. The other three members of the visitors glanced at each other.

"Well, what now?" inquired Ace of his fellows, grinning. "Shall we join them, or take a closer look around the village first?"

"…"

The blonde in the dusty blue coat turned and walked off without so much as a word to his companions. Ace blinked at his departing back.

"Guess that answers my question…" he muttered, shaking his head ruefully. "Jeez, Jacques, would it kill you to be a bit more sociable?"

"If you're the company he has to keep, then probably," interjected Joker with a smirk.

This, of course, prompted another argument to erupt between the pair. However, Lulu tuned out their grating voices, too annoyed with his mother to pay attention to the visitors.

(Man…! If Mom hadn't come when she did, I could've run off to see the meeting with the ironheads! Having an important message to relay would've been the perfect excuse to go to the treaty…!)

But once again, his mother's interference kept him from having a chance to leave the village. Lulu dug his fingers into Fubar's thick feathery mane, venting his frustration by petting the griffon roughly.

(How am I gonna prove to everyone I'm not just a little kid if I never get a chance to do anything important?)

Fubar gave a low warble; while he appreciated being petted, the boy's stroking was getting a little too violent. Lulu lessened the force he was applying when he heard the griffon's warning. He continued to run his hands through his friend's feathers, gazing out over the plains outside the village.

A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision caught the boy's attention. Turning to face the direction where he thought he'd glimpsed it, Lulu squinted, straining his eyes.

The ground seemed to ripple, and Lulu's eyes widened. A pale girl in a strange dress that looked almost more uniform than elegant stood there. She gazed at the village, evidently unaware of the fact she herself was being watched. Lulu had a clear view of her profile, but didn't know what to make of what he could see of her expression. Her doll-like features were composed, yet there seemed to be a hint of sadness touching her pale blue eyes.

Abruptly those ice blue eyes shifted to connect with his. Lulu gasped, every muscle in his body tensing as their gazes met over the expanse between them. The girl's lips stirred, forming words he felt more than heard, a silent command that nonetheless burned into his mind:

(Come…)

She turned on her heel and fled, moving swifter than her fragile appearance would lead most to assume. Lulu started, the contact broken, and gripped at Fubar's neck.

"Kue?"

The griffon's soft coo questioned his friend as Lulu swung up onto his back. The youth wrapped his arms around Fubar's neck, fingers tightly gripping the downy fringe, and he leaned upward slightly.

"Go," he whispered urgently in the beast's ear.

"Kuuuueeeee!" Responding more to the unusual seriousness of the boy's tone than to his command, Fubar beat his wings and let out a louder, more confident cry. The griffon charged off in the direction Lulu spurred him in, sensing they were on the hunt.

The two travelers cut off their argument long enough to stare as beast and boy bounded away from the gates, heading toward the plains in pursuit of something only the young rider knew of.

"They sure left in a hurry," Ace observed dryly. Glancing at his partner, he added with a smirk, "Care to see what exactly they're after, old man?"

"Save your energy," snapped Joker, already heading in the same direction Lulu and Fubar had gone. "I get the feeling you'll need it just to keep us with us…"

"Hah!" Ace snorted and jogged past him. "Just try and keep up, old man."

"Quit calling me that!"

~ * ~

By this time, Luce had not only led Geddoe and his female companion to the hut she shared with her sons, but was preparing a simple repast for her guests. The jovial woman chattered amicably as she bustled about, having struck up a bit of a rapport with the latter already.

"It's really too bad you didn't arrive sooner," she clucked, a slight shake of her head causing her short brown hair to flounce about her head. "Jimba left for the treaty meeting just after sunrise this morning. I'm afraid it might run longer than we expected; you know how the Zexens can be. I'd send you with an escort, but…"

"That's quite alright, Luce," the female traveler replied. She reclined in her seat, one leg folded comfortably over the other. "We don't mind waiting until he gets back."

Even as she offered this reassurance, however, she cast a surreptitious glance in the direction of her cohort. Geddoe had chosen the chair closest to the doorway, and sat straight, arms folded over his chest, single good eye almost completely closed. She knew him well enough, however, to know that he was watching the leather flap over the doorway, ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

Luce asked her something, and she turned back to the Karayan matron with a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes, exchanging her pensive mood for a receptive, pleased one with a practiced ease. The two engaged in a lively conversation, leaving Geddoe to his silent contemplation of the entrance.

Geddoe didn't join the conversation because he couldn't find the heart within him to do so. His message remained undelivered: he didn't want to burden this kind-hearted woman with the real reason why they'd hastened to this village.

He doubted the mother of the Karayan Chief would respond well to the news that Chief Zepon of the Lizard Clan had been assassinated. Nor would it be wise to inform her that the ones apparently responsible for doing so were the Zexen Knights.

Geddoe had his doubts about that last part, despite the fact that he and his men had faced down and been soundly defeated by someone claiming to be Chris Lightfellow, current commander of the elite Zexen Knights. There had been something ultimately surreal about that entire encounter.

For example, during the battle, Chris (or she who claimed to be the Silver Maiden) had landed a solid blow on his left arm that should have left a scar, or at least a bloody gash. Yet he had only felt a blunt impact, not steel slicing through his flesh.

Then, too, the rest of his unit had raised their own questions about the skirmish afterwards. When all was said and done, all Geddoe knew for certain was that Chief Zepon was dead. At the hands of whom… that remained to be seen. One thing was certain: whoever or whatever was responsible for the venerable lizard's death wasn't likely to stop with the murder of only one Chief.

(Be careful, Jimba.) Geddoe's single good eye glittered in the relative darkness of the hut, lit more by concern than by the light streaming through the thin space between the woven flap and its frame. (Until we know what exactly is happening, it'll be far too easy to play into others' hands…)


	9. Treaty

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Treaty * ~

The Amur Plains: a stretch of hills and fields that bridged the gap between those lands claimed by Zexen and the rest of the Grasslands. Skirmish after skirmish had been fought upon these valleys for the right for either side to expand their territory. In recent years the Amur Plains had developed into a sort of neutral ground, free land belonging to neither the Council nor any of the Clans.

So it seemed only fitting in a sense for the treatise meeting to be held in the heart of these prairies.

The representatives for the Zexen Council were the first to arrive at the appointed place, ironically enough. But then again, they needed time to set up the tents and supplies required to make their short stay a fairly comfortable one. Several regiments had accompanied the party, supposedly to ensure the treatise meeting went smoothly.

A mild breeze whispered through the campsite, gently tickling Chris's face. The captain's head was the only part of her body not clad in the ornate armor and robes that served as her knightly attire. The wind brushed against her cheeks, lightly tugging at her elaborately braided silver-white hair. Chris wasn't too concerned that the faint gust would mess up her intricate hairstyle. The complicated network of twisted tresses was braided tightly enough that it could only be unbound if she decided to do so herself.

The clank of iron alerted Chris to the approach of her comrades, and she turned to face them. Salome returned her thin smile, adjusting the royal purple jacket he wore over his armor as the mild current reached him. Louis, trailing at the tactician's heels, also offered his lady a supportive grin.

"Preparations are almost finished, milady," the strategist reported. "Most of our soldiers are already in place, ensuring that our camp is secure. Sir Borus and Sir Roland should return from escorting Sir Myriam and Sir Lanchet to their positions shortly."

"Good to hear," Chris nodded appreciatively. The female knight then sighed, shaking her head slowly. "I just wish the Council hadn't forced us to take all these soldiers along. It feels more like we're preparing for another battle instead of a peace treaty…"

"The Council is simply being cautious," Salome pointed out. With a mild shrug he added, "They may be concerned about appearing vulnerable. After all, they were the ones to propose this cease-fire to the Clans."

"Personally, I think it makes us look insecure." Another sigh escaped Chris's lips, and again she shook her head ruefully. "However, it hardly matters what I think…"

"Don't say such things, Lady Chris!" protested Louis. "You're our captain! Of course it matters what you think!"

(Not to the Council, it doesn't,) Chris thought. Aloud, however, she said, "You know I'm merely the acting captain for the time being, but thank you anyway, Louis."

"At any rate, it seems unlikely that the soldiers' presence is anything more than simple posturing on the Council's part."

Chris nodded agreement, adding, "Let us hope so…"

~ * ~

While Chris and Salome speculated on the reason for their armored escorts, two more members of the elite six were accompanying other generals to their respective destinations. Borus reigned his charger alongside Sir Myriam's gray steed, regarding the older knight with an irritated stare.

"Why did you let that lout off so lightly?" he asked -- not quite demanded, though there was more force in his words than politeness would dictate.

"Having to polish the equipment for everyone in the unit every day for two weeks seems appropriate enough to me," replied Myriam in a mildly amused tone. "Hopefully it will teach him not to think with his own…"

"Still, to propose _that_ to one of those _savages…_"

Borus shuddered out of real revulsion. Myriam glanced sideways at the Swordsman of Rage, dark brown eyes narrowed.

"Is that really such a horrible concept to you, Borus?" he inquired gently. "After all…"

"_Yes._" Borus didn't allow the general time to finish. His flinty amber eyes flashed angrily as he glared at his companion, and he forged on in a tight, clipped tone, "It's wrong, that's all there is to it."

Myriam averted his gaze, loosening his grip on the reins long enough to run one hand through his short, neatly trimmed brown hair. Borus looked away, his own hair gleaming golden in the sunlight, mouth pressed into a hard line. His companion had pushed into a sore subject for the swordsman, and both were aware of it. Myriam had broached the issue many times before.

No more words were exchanged between the pair before the general spurred his mount to the right, guiding it toward the place where his unit was camped. Myriam waved goodbye, and Borus returned the farewell with a short wave of his own before turning his steed around and heading back to the main camp.

On the far side of the field, Roland nodded farewell to his own associate. Lanchet grinned broadly at the elven knight and clapped him on the shoulder, chortling when the archer favored him with a dry, unamused look.

"Best of luck with the negotiations, Roland," he said encouragingly. "Wish I could meet the chiefs myself."

"It is hardly going to be a lengthy discussion," responded Roland in a cool, matter-of-fact tone. "The terms of the cease-fire have already been drafted by the Council. Hopefully the Clans will agree to them. That should not be difficult, since there is hardly anything objectionable within the treaty itself. It certainly isn't like anyone will be giving up the rights to land or anything of that sort."

"True, true," Lanchet nodded. His smirk broadened as he added, "But at least you'll be able to witness it. It's going to be boring sitting around out here waiting for the meeting to end."

"I'll send you a messenger relating all the sordid details later."

Roland's tone hadn't changed, but Lanchet chucked anyway, recognizing one of the marksman's rare jokes. He was one of the few people outside the elite Six Mighty Zexen Knights fortunate enough to be on companionable terms with the withdrawn elf. It mystified many of Lanchet's men how he, one of the most popular and friendly commanders in Brass Castle, could befriend the stern, seemingly aloof archer.

It didn't surprise Lanchet himself at all. He was one of the few capable of truly sympathizing with the archer's situation. They each had their own prejudices to face.

"Good, good! I'll be waiting for him, then!" he laughed, clapping Roland on the shoulder once again.

Then each guided their steeds in a separate direction, Lanchet waving back at the elven knight as he set off to rendezvous with his unit. Roland merely acknowledged his friend's farewell with a curt nod toward him; he did not wave back or bid him goodbye. It wasn't in his nature.

~ * ~

"It's about time," Salome commented as Borus and Roland tethered their horses and joined their comrades in front of the tents. It wasn't entirely clear whether he was referring to their arrival or to the impending rendezvous with the Clans representatives.

"How do we know we can trust those Lizard bastards?" Borus griped.

"I can see them coming," Louis pointed ahead, eager to distract the Swordsman of Rage from going into an ill-timed rant about the integrity of other races. "I think that's them."

It seemed the squire was correct, for Chris and her retinue could see a far more diverse entourage approaching the camp. Chris stepped forward to greet them, the other knights filing quietly behind her.

Borus narrowed his eyes distrustfully when he recognized one of the representatives present. Silently the swordsman cursed: it would be just his luck that the lizards would send the same warrior to serve as both their messenger to Brass Castle several days prior and their speaker for the treatise meeting.

If his recognition was returned in kind, the reptilian warrior gave no sign of it other than perhaps a slight narrowing of his own yellow slitted eyes. Borus wasn't familiar enough with their kind to be certain if that was real or merely a product of his imagination. The lizard's gaze rested on Chris -- again, Borus couldn't judge whether or not the glare he thought he glimpsed flickering in those inhuman eyes existed anywhere else other than his own mind. That didn't stop him from staring suspiciously at the hulking fighter even as he spoke in a deep, gravely voice.

"I am Dupa, the Left Fighter in Unit One of the Lizard Clan's Three Bodies Fighters," he stated. "I have a message from Chief Zepon, the chief of the Lizard Clan, one of the Grand Clans of Grassland. Until the moon disappears, he is the leader of the Six Clans. I will relate his message to the honorable fighters, the Zexen Knights, in accordance with our traditions."

Now it was Salome who studied Dupa's face closely, his own green eyes narrowed ever so slightly with thought. The tactician was almost certain the lizard's last statement in particular had been laced with undercurrents of deep bitterness. Still, perhaps he was reading too much into things: after all, Zexen 'ironheads' were not the only ones capable of feeling hatred toward other races.

"Zepon wishes that we, who are crowned with the crest of wisdom, do not waste time," Dupa continued in the same blunt fashion. "He will be pleased to see that we have completed his wishes."

Chris nodded politely in the reptilian soldier's direction, then turned her attention to the pair of Karayan warriors beside him as they stepped forward. Both men had deeply tanned skin and sunlight-kissed blonde hair, but the less muscular of the duo was also much more deeply scarred. Gashes of varying sizes and shapes crisscrossed his bare arms, and one long scar fell squarely over his left eye, though the eye itself appeared undamaged. Undoubtedly the speed of some tribal healer had saved his sight.

However, it was the other, larger man that Chris found her attention drawn to, despite the fact that he bore no visible marks on his copper skin. Perhaps it was because he smiled in a not-unkind or haughty manner toward her. Unlike his scarred companion, there was no sign of wariness or distrust in his bright, steel blue eyes. He seemed genuinely pleased to be present there.

"I am Jimba," he introduced himself, "chief of the Karaya Clan of the Six Clans. I'm pleased to have a chance to meet the legendary Silver Maiden and her knights somewhere other than the battlefield. I would hope this treaty prevents such an incident."

"Oh?" One delicate silver eyebrow raised. "And why is that, exactly?"

"I've seen enough blood shed on both sides," Jimba stated bluntly, most of the humor leaving his tone. "I would hate having to tell my warriors to relieve the Zexens of any more of their treasured knights."

Chris flinched inwardly. She hadn't needed that reminder of their previous captain and vice captain, both of whom had been all too recently lost during skirmishes with the clans. It was no coincidence that the Council had proposed this treaty after the deaths of Sir Galahad and Sir Pelize. Obviously the Clans were aware of this as well.

"Of course," she replied, a bit more stiffly than she would have liked. "I, too, look forward to an end to the bloodshed on both sides."

An elderly woman dressed in artfully woven robes stepped forward. Wisps of surprisingly richly colored copper hair peeked out from underneath her white shawl, and her deeply lined oval face still held a beauty defying her obvious age.

"We, the Chisha Clan, would like to thank our spirits in heaven and earth for this temporary truce," she said simply, expertly deflecting the conversation away from more unpleasant paths.

"We share your sentiment," agreed Salome with a nod in her direction. "Although we thank our goddess instead."

The conversation swiftly turned to the terms of the treaty, already placed forward by the Zexen Council. There was remarkable little need for negotiation, for as Roland had pointed out before, the cease-fire was uncomplicated and concise, with no real concessions made by anyone other than the mutual agreement to lay down arms and warfare for the time being. It seemed simple enough, and soon it became clear that the celebration the Clans planned after the official agreement were likely to take far longer than the actual discussion itself…

~ * ~

It wasn't that Lanchet was shirking his duty, exactly. It was more the fact that he felt the pressing need to move around. Lying in wait with his men at the far left flank of the meeting site was boring business, and if he hadn't decided to take a closer look at the campsite of the Clans he would have cracked up.

If the Council called him on it later -- presuming they found out somehow -- he would just label it reconnaissance. If any of the Clans happened to pick up his presence, he'd call it trying to get to know his roots better.

Lanchet's sun-blonde hair and lightly tanned skin were visible marks of a mixed heritage. Though he'd been born in Brass Castle, the Zexen general was partly Karayan on his mother's side. For all the bad blood that had been formed between the 'Ironheads' and the 'Grassies', their kinds weren't always mutually exclusive.

All the same, it was difficult to find officers with mixed blood whose roots showed as clearly as Lanchet's did. His skin wasn't as dark as 'true Karayans', but was still noticeably deeper than that of the pale, fully armor-clad, sheltered Zexens. While he was popular enough in his fortress hometown, he was far too used to hearing whispers from those less familiar with him and his reputation, and deep-rooted bias from some of the more intolerant of the very people he protected.

He'd grown used to it, though, sad as it was sometimes. Finding others who knew how it felt to be considered different helped a lot.

Leaving his steed waiting safely outside the settlement, Lanchet moved with a practiced ease through the camps of the Six Clans. He wanted to at least see the representatives before the rendezvous was finished, particularly the Karayan Chief. Catching sight of a deeply scarred man and a muscular fellow in somewhat richer-seeming leathers, Lanchet carefully made his way over to the tent he witnessed them entering and listened carefully to the conversation inside.

"Dupa, I must admit… I have reservations about this plan of yours," murmured the larger of the Karayans, falling into a seat with a sigh.

"Chief Jimba, I'm not asking you to take our revenge for us," responded a deep, surprisingly understanding voice. Its owner paced back and forth, tail lashing behind him. "All I need to know is whether or not we can count on your support to help keep the Zexens occupied."

(Revenge?) Lanchet wondered, a grim shadow falling over his normally cheerful features as he picked up unpleasant concepts from the way the lizard spoke. Rather than flee immediately to warn the rest of his fellows, however, Lanchet chose to remain, hoping to pick up more information about what exactly was happening before heading off.

"Believe me when I say that I empathize with your loss," Jimba was saying. The Karayan chief had his head bowed, shoulders slightly slumped. "Zepon was a wise leader. To hear of his fate -- especially at this time -- is sorrowful news indeed."

"Not to the Council, I bet," snorted his scarred companion. His features were twisted into a revolted mask. "Breaking a treaty they proposed themselves by sending their knights to assassinate Chief Zepon… have they no shame?"

"Agreed," Dupa nodded, a similar expression of disgust on his reptilian face. "I watched the Silver Maiden closely while I spoke of my late chief. Shiba reported her presence during the murder. She showed no remorse. Either she is a damned fine actress, or she truly is a queen of ice as so many report…"

As he spoke, the lizard tightened his claws around the huge polearm he carried. The viciously curved triple-pronged blade pointed towards the heavens, looking just as ready as its carrier to mete out glorious revenge. Lanchet swallowed as quietly as possible in an attempt to moisten his dry, constricted throat.

"As Zepon's successor and new Chief of the Lizard Clan, I will do everything in my power to ensure those responsible for his death suffer," vowed Dupa. "All I ask of you, Chief Jimba, is to support my Clan. With the aid of your warriors, we can ensure that none of the ironheads leave these plains."

Jimba, eyes shut and head still bowed, was silent. His escort and advisor leaned over to whisper in his chief's ear.

"This may tie in to what we know, my chief," he murmured. "Those recent reports of strangers near the village could very well be scouts sent by the Council to plot your own demise."

Lanchet couldn't pick up the words, but sensed that the battle-worn warrior was likely advising him to assist with the raid. Deciding he had long overstayed his welcome, the general crept away from the tent, making his way back to where he had hidden his horse as quickly and quietly as possible.

(Chief Zepon dead?!) The Zexen's thoughts churned wildly. (And Lady Chris spotted at the scene? But how could that be possible? Lady Chris has been at Brass Castle for the past few days! Besides, it isn't her style to be involved in some lowly assassination attempt. But then, how…)

A shout from behind him shocked Lanchet back to reality: he'd already been spotted, and several Lizard troops were already giving chase. Muttering a vile curse, he spurred his steed to go faster.

Heading back to where his men were stationed wasn't an option; it would only lead the enemy straight to them. Making matters even worse, more shouts and cries swiftly filled the air, and Lanchet realized the attack was already being launched. There was no more time to think, only react.

Spitting another curse out, Lanchet charged toward the first group of troops he saw engaging their unexpected enemy. As his mount closed the distance rapidly, the general unsheathed his sword, and the blade immediately found its first mark in the back of a lizard's neck, slicing through dusky scales mercilessly.

Lanchet gripped the reins tightly with one hand while dealing death with the other, using the speed of his well-trained charger to his advantage. The added height of his mount put him in a better possession against the naturally larger, stronger lizards. His broadsword lashed out repeatedly, turning aside a pike here, slashing leathery hides there, and cutting down those who attempted to swarm the rider.

However, he couldn't hope to avoid every blow. The lizards continued their ruthless assault until finally one of their grides hit the mark. A triple-pronged blade slammed into his chestplate at just the right angle to send the commander crashing to the ground. His horse whinnied loudly, only to have its scream cut short as two of the lizards fell upon it, ensuring the steed would aid the ironheads no longer.

Lanchet parried his assailants' blows as best he could, until a well-timed slash forced his sword to drop from bleeding fingers, two of which were nearly severed. A scaled hand gripped his neck, shoving him to the ground, choking off the general's gasp as air was driven from his burning lungs. Blurring hazel eyes beheld only a flash of descending metal before everything was consumed by a reddish haze -- then, darkness.

~ * ~

A small shudder ran down the spine of Chris's squire, and Louis absently brushed back his soft tan bangs, which were being tousled by the breeze.

"Brrrr. The wind's picking up," he observed.

"Poor Louis. He misses the Brass Castle already," commented Borus with a smirk.

"I do not!" Shaking his head violently, Louis jabbed an accusing finger toward the swordsman and proclaimed, "You must be talking about yourself, Lord Borus."

Chris giggled into a discretely raised hand at the flummoxed look Borus shot her squire. Beside her, Salome also smiled, glad for the small distraction.

Roland ignored the prattling of his companions entirely. The elven knight could frankly care less about their lighthearted chatting. His sensitive hearing was picking up uneasy whispers from nearby soldiers, and a heavy sense of disquiet was spreading through the air.

"Lady Chris, something is not right," he finally reported, cutting into the conversation coldly. "The soldiers are agitated."

"What do you mean?" asked Chris.

"Grassland troops are on the move. We'd be wise to depart at once."

"We can't be so rude as to leave before the ceremony ends…"

"I'd worry less about pomp and more about circumstances with these barbarians," Borus cut in.

"He may be right," conceded Salome. "This bothers me."

"Sir!" A recruit clad in the thick leather armor of a light infantryman jogged toward them, eyes wide and wild underneath the brim of his metal helmet. Grinding to a halt in front of the knights, he reported, "There's a Lizard Clan unit at our rear and they're attacking! There're more Lizard Clan troops on the right and the Karaya Clan troops are advancing!"

"What?!" Chris exclaimed.

"There's been a surprise attack, and it claimed the lives of both Lord Myriam, defending the right flank, and Lord Lanchet, who was trying to break through enemy lines to free the allies."

"S-Sir Myriam?" Louis paled, eyes widening at the report. (Sir Myriam and Sir Lanchet… dead?!)

The squire scarcely heard the astonished replies of those around him, too engrossed in his own shock. The boy's gaze traveled from the babbling messenger to where the archer stood. As always, Roland's expression was unreadable, though his eyes seemed harder and colder than usual.

"Damn those barbarians!" cursed Borus, spitting out the phrase Louis sensed weighed heavily on the minds of all those present.

"No time to waste! We'll be surrounded soon," Roland announced curtly.

The knights hurried to where their horses were stabled, and Salome pulled Louis up behind him on his steed. The strategist was the only one of the knights who didn't specialize in combat while riding, so having the squire share a mount with him would hinder him the least. Salome pulled up alongside Lady Chris, already formulating a plan.

"Captain, contact has been lost with the rear," he reported gravely. "Our units risk being outflanked one by one. We could break through and enter Grassland to escape…"

"No! That would consign the other knights to death!"

"The captain is right," Borus agreed. Pointing his charger toward the heart of the conflict, he spat, "I'll rip right through their pathetic line. Follow me!"

"Borus, wait!" Roland interposed his steed between Borus and the front line. He matched the Swordsman of Rage's heated glare with a cold stare, ordering "Listen to Salome."

"I have a plan, but first we must break out of this tightening noose," Salome announced.

"Then so be it." Drawing her sword, Chris proclaimed, "Let's fight our way out!"

Louis clung to Salome's back for dear life as the knights charged. The boy squeezed his eyes shut, trying futilely to shut out the sounds of the struggle surrounding them. The screams of the dead and dying rang horribly in his ears, and Louis prayed none of them belonged to people he knew in the service.

"We're through," Salome finally announced.

Louis opened his eyes and sighed with relief, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder. Though they'd left the immediate battlefield behind, he could still hear muted echoes of the struggle, and knew he'd only behold more bloodshed should he turn around.

"What next, Salome?" Chris asked the tactician urgently. "We cannot retreat to the Brass Castle now. Time's running out!"

"There is a Karayan village not far from here. We will raid it!"

Salome felt Louis tense behind him, the squire's body going stiff from shock. He didn't look down at the boy, knowing he was likely on the receiving end of a startled stare from wide, confused green eyes. Regrettably, this plan was the only one he could conceive to save their soldiers.

"Have you lost your mind?" Again, Borus spoke for others without even realizing it. "Now's the time to get back and help our men in trouble, not seek new foes!"

"Once they learn that their village has been attacked, the Karaya Clan will retreat," explained Salome. "Then our men will be able to escape from the enclosure."

"It might work… if we have enough time," Roland murmured thoughtfully.

"We must try. We have no other choice."

Chris nodded swiftly. There was no time to argue the logistics of what their next move should be. With every passing minute, Zexen soldiers were dying at the traitorous, scheming hands of the Lizards and Karayans. She could think of no reason why the Clans would turn this treatise meeting into yet another engagement.

(I'm pleased to have a chance to meet the legendary Silver Maiden and her knights somewhere other than the battlefield…) The Karayan Chief's words echoed in her thoughts. She clearly remembered his smile, his clear blue eyes glinting like steel in the sunlight. (I would hope this treaty prevents such an incident… I've seen enough blood shed on both sides…. I would hate having to tell my warriors to relieve the Zexens of any more of their treasured knights…)

Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe his smile had not been as friendly as she'd wanted to believe. Maybe he had been smiling with pleasure at the thought of deceiving the 'legendary Silver Maiden and her knights'.

Disgust filled Chris's heart, not all of it aimed toward the Karayan Chief. Her lavender eyes were cold and angry as she faced her knights.

"Agreed! Let's ride!"


	10. Fury amid the Flames

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Fury amid the Flames * ~

The dull rings of metal crashing together echoed incessantly through the air, a grisly welcoming for the Grassland messengers as they entered the plains of Amur. Sergeant Jordi winced as the clanging reached his ears. The mallard bowed his head, gripping his wounded side with one hand and his halberd with the other, while Aila abandoned her support of her comrade in favor of her bow.

"We're too late," she lamented, starting toward the sounds of battle.

"Aila, wait! Don't charge in blindly!"

"What else am I supposed to do?!" Aila demanded hotly, whirling around to face the Duck Clan soldier.

The fury lighting her leaf green eyes dimmed somewhat as she beheld the sergeant leaning against the shorter Zexen lad who had joined them during their escape from Vinay de Zexay. Melville looked no more thrilled than the natives to witness soldiers from his country fighting Grassland warriors.

Aila's attention returned to what she could see of the battle before her. This wasn't simply a case of Ironheads versus Karayans, the archer judged; she could make out the naturally larger hulks of Lizard Clan members weaving through the conflict here and there. Of course, that made sense if whatever the Zexens had been planning involved the peace meeting in some manner…

"Aila, the skies…"

She didn't immediately understand what the sergeant was referring to, not until her searching gaze traveled to the western horizon. The sinking sun was painting everything in the fields with warm hues of gold and crimson, the skies deepening into a brilliant canvas of orange and amber -- save for one ugly patch of dark smoke rising in the distance. Thin, twisted plumes of coal spread wispy, skeletal fingers across the rich array, while icy claws constricted around the archer's heart.

"That direction… Karaya?!"

Before the last syllable passed her lips, Aila was already sprinting toward her homeland. Melville's startled cry behind her fell upon deaf ears; her blood roared furiously while pumping through her veins, drowning out all outside noise. She felt more than heard her companions start after her, and offered a prayer to the spirits that they would make it back in time…

~ * ~

On the opposite side of the Amur Plains, far from the battlefield and the returning messengers, Fubar ground to a halt, claws digging into the soil as the griffon suddenly stopped bounding around the fields. His rider peeked curiously around the side of his thick, fluffy neck, absently running one hand through the white mane while wide green eyes sought out the reason for his ride ending so abruptly.

"What is it, Fubar?" Lulu asked.

There was no sign of the pale woman he'd seen on the outskirts of the village earlier, and Lulu wondered if the two visitors who'd been trailing them had scared her off. Or maybe they were a bit more involved with her… he wasn't too fond of the interlopers in either case. He'd been letting Fubar run wild in the hopes of losing them, and the look on his face was decidedly sour when he looked over his shoulder, half-expecting to see one or both waving at him and jogging up, annoyed at the runaround this 'kid' was giving them…

Instead of a pair of annoyed adults, however, Lulu beheld dark tendrils of smoke rising from behind the cliffs that shielded Karaya from view. All thoughts of how irritating those older than him could be fled in the face of those slate-gray clouds. Lulu's breath hitched in his throat; thankfully, he didn't need to give the griffon any command, for Fubar was already wheeling around and charging back toward the village. 

Some distance away from them, Ace bent over and cupped his hands over his knees, bracing his legs while panting heavily.

"Damn…bird…is'a damn good runner, isn't he?" he inquired of his companion.

Joker didn't even spare the ruffian so much as a glance or a roll of his dark onyx eyes. His steady gaze remained fixed on the horizon, arms folded behind his back, regarding the thick plumes rising from beyond the cliffs with an unreadable, grim expression.

"That would be the least of our problems right now…" he observed stonily.

~ * ~

The flames were almost beautiful in the way they purged the barbarian village. The scent of burning flesh and blood assailed the knight's nostrils, and he inhaled appreciatively. Ah, the sweet smell of retribution…

The scarlet haze of bloodlust had descended over Borus when he first rode into the village, painting everything in crimson hues. His pupils were dilated to the point that anyone who glimpsed his eyes would only see two glazed panes of amber. His lips were curled back into an animalistic snarl -- worse, for no normal beast takes such perverse pleasure in slaughtering their prey.

Animals kill to satisfy hunger. The Swordsman of Rage was killing to satisfy his own pressing desire for revenge.

All rational thought had fled from his mind. All that remained -- all that mattered -- was making the savages suffer. To pay for the deaths of good Zexen soldiers. To pay for the betrayal at the treatise signing.

The thatched roofs and woven decorations the Karayans so favored were easy to set alight. Wood and weave burned quickly, but did not quench his thirst for vengeance nearly so well as the sight of blood seeping from barbarian bodies. How nice the villagers were for obliging him by fleeing their flaming huts right into the sweeping arc of his sword. He hadn't expected such courtesy from savages.

Not all were nearly so polite, of course. Some tried to fight back using spears, bows, swords, whatever they could get their hands on. It hardly mattered. All fell to his sword soon enough.

"Lulu! Where are you?!"

The scream of a female not yet in her death throes caught Borus's attention, and his head snapped upright, no longer interested in observing the feeble struggles of the man last skewered upon his blade. Amber eyes narrowed as they beheld a portly woman in a bloodstained leather dress scrambling along the corpse-crowded ground. Her head whipped from side to side, frantic eyes darting about in search of somebody.

A disgusted grunt issued from the knight. (Barbarian bitch.) Effortlessly pulling his sword out of his last victim, Borus spurred his charger forward, closing the gap between them.

Just as he bore down upon her, the woman turned. He got the barest glimpse of her face -- her clear eyes widening, pupils shrinking, lips parting to give rise to a startled, horrified shriek -- before his blade cleaved down through them. A wet gurgle was his reward, and Borus watched her slump to the ground, adding another crimson stain to the already sullied dirt.

"_MOM?!_"

Again Borus pivoted at the sound of the bereaved shriek; this time through the red haze he beheld the figure of a small boy staring at the fallen figure. His lips pulled back farther into a disdainful snarl, and he yanked at his mount's reins, forcing the charger to step upon and over the woman's crumpled body.

Then the child's disbelieving scream was overpowered by a monstrous howling, and a blaze of feathers and claws burst through the embers.

"KUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEE!!!" bellowed the beast barreling toward him.

Borus yanked his sword up, but didn't interpose it between himself and the flying terror in time. Talons locked round his blade, gripping the steel so tightly the creature was practically driving the edge deeper into its own claws. But that sharp blockade did nothing to impede the beast's rear paws from swinging up and raking against his chestplate.

It was more than enough to drive the knight off his mount. The charger bucked violently when the familiar weight of his rider was suddenly removed from his back; that and the winged terror brushing narrowly overhead was enough to spook the steed sufficiently. The stallion let out a high-pitched ninny before galloping off. In its haste, the runaway nearly plowed over a pair of refugees near the entrance of one of the burning huts. The female gripped the hilt of her sword, but a light touch at her wrist from her male companion stayed her hand. The two chose to take advantage of the knight's distraction to slip away into the concealing chaos erupting around them.

There was little Borus could have done to stop them had he even noticed their presence. The creature's claws drove into his chest, bending the tempered steel of his armor so violently it buckled and caved underneath the force. Jagged metal sliced into the decorative robes underneath as easily as the flesh that followed. Blood welled to fill the gashes immediately, seeping out past the steel shreds.

Borus cared little for the pain. More pressing was the fierce desire to continue his own vengeful rampage -- How _DARE_ this creature interfere?! It was every bit the monster these barbarians were, and would be dealt with as such…

Rather than attempt to wrench his sword free, Borus pushed back into the beast, forcing the blade forward by inches. Finally, the pain slicing through its talons was too much for the winged monster to bear and it released its grip rather than lose its front claws. Borus immediately drove forward, and ivory feathers rained down as his blade lanced up and out across its chest.

The griffon screeched, rearing, tearing at the knight with its talons. The Swordsman of Rage was forced backwards, giving up ground inch by bloody inch, maneuvered by the shrieking, slicing beast toward the flat stone at the village's edge.

Lulu stared, eyes wide, pupils shrunk down, breathing fast and hitched. Though the boy gripped his dagger so hard color drained from his knuckles, he did not attack. Fubar's frenzied assault was leaving no opening for him to charge into the battle -- there was no guarantee the griffon's wild slashes wouldn't find marks in his own skin as well.

And… blindly charging in wouldn't bring Luce back. Nothing would.

Unbidden Lulu's eyes traveled to the slumped figure of his mother. From his angle he could barely see what remained of her face -- never again would a welcoming smile spread over those mangled features. Never again would he see her proud eyes light up with joy.

His stomach lurched, nearly driving the boy to his knees. A hysterical whimper issued from his mouth. Lulu gripped his dagger's hilt so tightly his knuckles were almost pale as parchment, as if it were the only link between him and reality.

He didn't see the ironheads creeping up behind him, only heard the _shinkt_ of steel being slid from its sheath.

"Die, barbarian!" one of the soldiers snarled as he lunged at the boy from behind, his buddy at his heels, both leading with their swords.

Lulu spun around, a scream bubbling on his lips, whipping his dagger out to meet the soldiers' charge. The leader of the duo fell first, toppling to the ground with a wet gurgle. Lulu blinked: he didn't even remember striking.

The second continued his charge only to jerk to a halt a second later, sputtering and half-spinning in place as his body jerked. This gave Lulu time to see the bolt jutting out of his throat before the ironhead collapsed beside his partner.

Whirling about, Lulu gasped as his disbelieving gaze fell upon the most likely source of his salvation. The figure standing amidst the flames was so pale he could be mistaken for a ghost were it not for the fact that ghosts don't typically haul around heavy weaponry. The dusty blue jacket covering his slender frame seemed more attuned with a spirit of ice or water than one standing calmly surrounded by blazing death. Lowering the sights of his weapon a hairsbreadth, the stranger -- Lulu recognized him as one of the visitors now -- seemed to nod in his direction. Though he couldn't tell if the man spoke to him or not -- or even if his lips moved at all -- Lulu somehow understood what he was trying to communicate to him.

(Come…)

He hesitated briefly, casting a torn glance back to where Fubar still grappled with the murderous knight. Then his gaze fell upon the crumpled corpse of his mother, and Lulu choked, spun on his heel, and dashed toward the pale stranger. Tears and ashes burned his eyes, forcing him to squeeze them almost completely shut. Thankfully his strange savior's blue attire was fairly easy to pick out amid the swirls of red and black the rest of his village became engulfed in, though it was taking all his reverses of strength to keep up with the pace the other set.

Fubar failed to notice his young friend's departure, caught up as he was in tearing the invader apart. The ironhead's stiff shell was proving difficult to deal with; an unarmored foe would have already been dismembered by the furious griffon by now.

Ironically, however, now the knight's protection was proving a downside for the Swordsman of Rage as well. Fubar's slashes drove the shredded pieces of metal into the wounds he'd managed to inflict, keeping them open and gouging deeper as he ravaged the intruder. What was supposed to be defensive was giving Borus's assailant a bit of an extra offensive edge.

This didn't register in either combatant's crazed mind, however: both were entirely focused on the matter of survival at hand. The ivory feathers being ripped from the griffon's chest were now spotted with red, blood originating from both bodies.

Still, it was clear Fubar had the advantage. Borus had long been backed into a corner, his back braced against the unyielding surface of the stone near the rear of the village. Every breath sent pangs through his chest where steel drove into open wounds. The crimson haze of bloodlust was replaced by fog of a different sort, blackness impeding on the edges of his vision.

The cornered swordsman lashed out again, his blade biting into the griffon's stained chest feathers. Fubar abruptly reared, catching him off guard, and talons sliced across his gauntlet-clad hand. His sword clattered to the ground. Another screech tore from the griffon's lungs before his beak lanced down, ready to find its mark in his victim's forehead.

Borus didn't bother closing his eyes. The darkness hampering the corners of his vision was spreading quickly enough.

Another unholy shriek tore through the air, a howl of insufferable pain. Fubar's neck snapped back and the griffon recoiled, shaking his head violently in an attempt to dislodge the pointy missile jutting from just above his left eye. Not only were his efforts futile, but the clanking of iron rapidly approaching informed him that more of the intruders had arrived. There was no way he could fight them off in his condition, so with a final, enraged cry he spread his wings and exploded into the air.

A pair of pale, cold eyes watched the beast fade into the fire-stained skies. Their owner then turned his icy gaze upon the slumped figure of the Swordsman of Rage. A grimace pursed already thin lips together, and then the knight lowered the sights of his bow and turned to the anxious guards milling around his horse and fallen comrade.

"Remove Sir Borus from this place at once," he commanded in a tight, clipped tone. Guiding his steed around, he continued, "I will inform Lady Chris of these developments immediately. See to it Sir Borus is transported back to Brass Castle right away!"

"Yes, Sir Roland!" several of the soldiers chorused, offering the elven knight a quick salute before hurrying about their duties.

Roland didn't acknowledge their response. The archer spurred his mount back toward the gates of the village, knowing that was where his commander had been waiting for their plan to bear results.

~ * ~

A terrible sense of unease had settled over Chris the moment she entered Karaya Village and started making her way slowly along the burning huts. Salome, Roland and Borus had all departed, assaulting the settlement from separate sides to minimize the chances of direct confrontation with the fleeing villagers. After all, the object of the plan was to stop the slaughter of their soldiers back at the ill-fated treatise meeting, not add to the carnage with innocent blood.

Still… it seemed quite odd that she had yet to see even a single civilian evacuating the torched land. The only sign of Karayan life Chris had witnessed was the sole body of a guard lying near the gates.

That alone saddened the Silver Maiden, somehow. Was she being foolish to hope that there would be a minimum of causalities for the villagers? No… there was a difference between killing somebody armed and ready to fight and people who were merely going about their everyday lives.

(Salome's plan will work. I only hope our men understand the need to refrain from attacking anyone in anger. Vengeance is better earned on the battlefield than with the blood of innocents…)

Her sweeping, searching gaze fell upon something that immediately destroyed that line of thought. Louis looked up in concern as his commander reined her snow-white charger to a dead halt before the doorway of one of the larger huts. Greedy flames lapped the air from the thatched roof already; surely it would not be long before the entire building was engulfed.

"My lady?" he inquired softly, catching the odd expression on her face.

"This armor… this coat of arms…" she murmured under her breath; it was unclear to Louis if she was responding to him or speaking more to herself. "Can it be… my dear father's?"

Startled, Louis followed her stare to where a beaten, battered, rusty chestplate rested in the scorched grass and dirt. Although he was sadly unfamiliar with the meaning of the symbols etched into the aged metal, the squire knew that all high-ranking knights beyond a certain rank were issued special, custom-made suits of armor. So if Lady Chris really believed this could belong to Sir Wyatt, then…

"I'd know this battle gear anywhere," Chris murmured, confirming his suspicions. "It IS my father's! Does that mean that he was killed by a Karayan… here on this land? How can that be? If someone here dishonored him…"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly, while Louis looked on awkwardly. The squire wished for some gift with words, so that he might think of something to say to his lady to soothe her pain… Then her eyes reopened, and his breath caught in his throat.

Those cold lavender panes… somehow they didn't resemble the ones he recalled her having at all. They were far too frigid, too uncaring.

"This village… We'll be better off with it gone," she muttered in an icy tone that matched her new demeanor, if not the one Louis was familiar with.

Before he could fully process this change in his commander's behavior, the squire heard the familiar wail of something slicing through the air. His eyes widened as he spotted the cause, and he cried out, "Be careful, my lady!"

Chris snapped to attention just as the missile glided past her face, so close that she could almost see the notches in the shaft. Her steed shied back, whickering, and the Silver Maiden turned to see the archer nock another arrow into her bow. The Karayan girl's face was twisted into an enraged snarl, and Chris realized with a start that something about her seemed familiar, though the reason why she didn't immediately register.

"You _bitch!_" the girl raged, green eyes ablaze. "You'll pay for this!!"

Her second arrow lanced toward her target's throat, and Chris parried it with the flat of her sword. An animalistic snarl ripped from the Karayan's lungs as she yanked a dagger from her belt and lunged. Louis cried out in alarm, and Chris hastily interposed her mount between her squire and the charging maiden, bringing up her own blade in reply.

(She's blinded by her rage,) a part of her noted dispassionately. (She's leaving herself wide open. One slash at the right angle could split that scrawny waist in two.)

Without even thinking about it Chris raised her sword up in preparation to do just that. It would be easy enough to follow through; a single stroke to finish her assailant off was perhaps the most merciful method to use.

"_Aila, don't!!!_"

The scream shattered Chris's concentration completely. The voice was that of a child, but more immediately surprising to the Silver Maiden was the fact that her gaze shifted to its source and was riveted upon him. The child was supporting a Duck Clan soldier, one that appeared badly wounded at that, but…

He was unmistakably Zexen.

The boy was clad in brightly colored cotton clothes instead of woven leather. His eyes were wide circles of clear tan in a pale white face. And the way he stared at Chris, horror and fear clashing with long-ingrained respect and worship was like an ice-cold splash in the face for the female knight.

Her downward slash slipped, going shallower and longer than she had intended. The Karayan girl -- Aila -- shrieked as the heated metal sliced across the front of her tunic, a pained howl of torment as she crashed onto her back.

"Aila!" the boy screamed again.

He and the mallard stumbled forward, while Chris stared down at the gasping archer. Thankfully, the cut was mostly superficial; judging from the way the Zexen child dropped by her side and started pouring a vial of hastily opened medicine onto the wound she would be receiving enough treatment to ensure that perhaps not even a scar would form.

(If I'd finished that strike the way I'd intended, no amount of healing could save her…)

Chris felt her stomach lurch at the concept. She felt Louis brace himself against the flank of her steed with one hand, staring at the collapsed girl and her friends.

She wanted to ask the Zexen lad's name, but the awkward words froze in her constricted throat. The child's clear brown eyes were filled with enough conflict already, and Chris sensed any questions she longed to ask would only complicate matters further.

The wounded Duck Clan soldier was regarding her warily, gripping his weapon with both hands. As if he would really be able to prevent her from killing the lot of them if she chose to attack. But it was not for his sake that she stayed her hand. 

All Chris wished to do at that moment was to leave. To put the burning village behind her and return to… the Amur Plains, Brass Castle, anywhere but here.

Her salvation finally came in the form of two of her comrades riding up behind her. The tactician and the archer were flanked by several foot soldiers, and she turned at once to face them, doing her best to act as if there wasn't a couple of badly wounded Grasslanders and a Zexen child kneeling behind her.

"Lady Chris, we must depart. Things have gone terribly awry," Salome reported.

(You didn't need to mention that, Salome, I already know,) Chris mused bitterly. However, the captain merely nodded and assented, "Agreed. Let us depart at once."

"It is in our best interests to return to Brass Castle as quickly as possible," added Roland. "It seems that Borus ran afoul of one of the Karayan's special defenses. He was badly wounded before assistance arrived."

Chris felt her blood run a little colder at that blunt report. (Borus…?)

"Let us make haste, Captain," prompted Salome.

She nodded again, almost mechanically, and urged her mount forward. However, she couldn't restrain herself from looking one more time over her shoulder at the trio they were leaving behind. The Zexen child finally looked up from his fallen companion, and Chris immediately averted her eyes slightly, unable to meet his tortured gaze completely.

"I am sorry… child," she murmured softly.

Then the Silver Maiden turned completely away and rode off into the flames, flanked by two of her loyal knights. Melville stared after her, ashes and soot stinging his misty tan eyes, feeling something deep inside crumble and wither along with the smoldering remains of Karaya Village surrounding him.

Aila groaned, commanding his full attention once more. The lad's hands trembled as he pulled the stopper from another vial of medicine and started slathering it over the long, thin gash stretching across her bared stomach again. Jordi leaned against the shaft of his halberd, bracing the weapon in the dust, head bowed, eyes nearly closed. The sergeant couldn't bear the pitiful sight anymore.

Karaya Village was dying. His second home… the only home Aila had ever known… was turning to ashes before their very eyes. This was not the homecoming they had hoped for…


	11. Tarnished Silver

__

And after the tragedy at Karaya Village, the first group we check in with is the… Zexen Knights? Anyway, see the first chapter for all the disclaimers and warnings.

~ * Tarnished Silver * ~

The clank of armored boots against stone echoed hollowly through the hallway. Chris Lightfellow held her head high with a confidence she didn't feel, her face schooled into the stoic mask of the proud commander. Her squire kept pace behind her, but the lad failed to keep anxiety from filling his gentle green eyes.

Chris rather envied the boy. Louis was only a lowly attendant; he wasn't expected to pretend aloofness, to act unattached to whatever horrors raged around him.

She caught many sympathetic looks being aimed their way. The citizens and soldiers of Brass Castle were very aware of the losses that had been incurred on the battlefield -- the same field that should have been the site of a meeting of peace, not war. The deaths of Sir Lanchet and Sir Myriam hit the fortress town especially hard, as both were local heroes, popular officers who now would have to be replaced. Chris didn't envy whoever would have to fill those shoes.

It would be so easy to pretend all of those pitying glances were being cast solely in Louis's direction. It was common knowledge that the squire of the Silver Maiden had also idolized Sir Myriam. They had shared an almost brotherly bond…

But Chris did not attempt such mental deception. She was very aware that the whispers spoke of far more than simply the loss of such noble men. The shadows also buzzed with rumors of the possibility of losing another popular knight to this tragedy.

Chris blinked rapidly, twice, thrice, ensuring the moisture she felt beginning to form in her eyes would not become anything more than a slight glisten in lavender irises. Her pace remained steady, a forced march that ended only when she reached the door she desired. One sharp rap on the banded wood, a moment's wait, then the portal swung open to reveal Salome.

"Come in, milady," he invited, stepping aside to admit his captain and her attendant.

Once they cleared the doorway, Salome eased it shut behind them and flicked the lock shut. They didn't need any unwanted visitors barging in, no matter how good their intentions may be. This was a matter for knights' ears alone.

The tactician's face was deeply lined, his deep green eyes speaking of exhaustion keenly felt in every bone in his body. Still, he held himself at attention, watching as the Silver Maiden crossed the chamber to stand beside the simple cot set up in the corner.

Borus Redrum lay there, stripped of his normal trappings. Rolls upon rolls of off-white cloth bandages replaced his knightly attire, some cleaner than others. A thick woven blanket was draped over his form, motionless save for the faint rise and fall of his swathed chest, leaving only his head and the top of his shoulders visible.

His sword lay off to one side atop a pile of what little remained of his battle garments. The top half of his armor had been unsalvageable, difficult enough to pry off his body without aggravating his already grievous wounds any more. The leg guards and boots, while mostly useless without their ruined mate, had been set aside, the still bloodstained fabric of the shredded bronze-trimmed robe underneath folded over that.

Roland sat atop a crate beside that pitiful pile, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed. At any other time, his comrades would have found such a position unusual for the dignified elf to place himself in. However, at this point it barely seemed worth noted. His condition was far preferable to that of the Swordsman of Rage.

The archer had only strayed from his injured associate's side once, parting ways with the others when they first reached the fortress's walls. He hadn't informed them of his reasons, letting his actions speak his defense when he returned with a Wind Rune newly embedded in his left hand and several containers of the strongest healing medicine sold in Brass Castle tucked in his pack. His Great Hawk rune was safely stored in a pouch on his belt.

Since his return, the elven knight had assisted the tactician in the long, arduous task of carefully stripping the swordsman of his armor and treating his wounds. Winds of sleep kept their younger comrade unconscious during their grim labor, wrapping him in blessed slumber as they cast healing spells upon his battered body.

Now both Salome and Roland were drained dry of magic. Rest would replenish those reservoirs, yet neither was inclined to resign himself to relaxation while one of their own lay suffering.

Gazing upon the results of their wearisome task, Chris wished she could find the heart to compliment them on their work. Somehow, the praise failed to come to her lips. Truly, they had worked a small miracle, and it was a testament to their skills and ability to work together so quickly and effectively that their patient was even still alive.

But…

(This can't be Borus. He's too still, too pale…)

Chris shook her head slowly, eyes squeezing shut so they wouldn't relay the harsh truth of the matter to her comprehending yet stubborn brain. Reality currently clashed too much with her memory of the Swordsman of Rage.

Borus was supposed to be stomping about Brass Castle right now complaining about the treachery of the savages, not lying before her as a visual reminder of the results of such a deceitful display on behalf of the barbarians.

Louis shifted uncomfortably, finding the floorboards a far more bearable sight than the comatose knight was. The grim faces of his companions held little comfort for the lad. His eyes watered, but he didn't cry; if the knights could restrain their emotions, then so could he. What kind of squire would he be if he couldn't even follow the example his superiors set?

It was Salome who finally broke the silent tension gathering in the room, though his weary tone hinted he held no real desire to. Though he looked in Chris's direction, his gaze was averted away from her face, as if he wished not to make eye contact with his commander should she open her eyes.

"Milady, a summons has arrived from the Council regarding the failed negotiations yesterday," he reported.

Chris did open her eyes, though no more than a sliver. The pale lavender irises remained mostly veiled by her lashes, still fixated on the comatose Swordsman of Rage.

"News travels quickly," she observed, an undeniable twinge of bitterness in her tone.

"Several messengers did depart for Vinay once our forces began arriving back here in full," the tactician replied.

Chris allowed her eyes to briefly drift closed again, then abruptly turned away from the bed to face the rest of her companions. When they reopened, the firm visage of the Silver Maiden was back in place.

"I will have Roland and Louis accompany me back to the capital. Salome, you stay here and keep an eye on the movements of the Grasslanders."

"As you wish, milady," replied Salome with a courteous nod.

"Roland, how soon can you be prepared to depart?" she queried of the elven cavalier.

"If milady permits, I need only time to return my rune to its intended station," responded Roland, standing up even while speaking.

"Then do so," Chris nodded dismissal. Turning next to face her squire, she ordered, "Louis, I will prepare as well. Will you please check on our horses and ensure they are ready for a trip back to the capital?"

"Of course," and Louis forced a small smile along with his salute. "I'll have them ready and waiting at the gates, then, milady."

"Thank you, Louis."

The squire hurried off for the stables, Roland striding out at a much slower and more dignified pace. Chris followed shortly thereafter, leaving Salome alone with his patient. The strategist sighed, sinking further back into his seat, green eyes studying the younger knight.

(There was no choice given the circumstances,) he silently reminded himself. (Had we not raided the village, the allied Grasslanders would have slain far more of our men.)

Looking at the grievously wounded Borus, however, Salome wondered if the fallout from that decision would turn out to be worse than the alternative.

~ * ~

Experience with the Council's propensity to keep their precious Silver Maiden circulating through Zexen territory taught Chris how to prepare quickly and efficiently for departure. She bought a few vials of C-type Medicine from one of the local shopkeepers -- there was always the off chance she and Roland might run into one of the more powerful denizens of the forest. While the Council did supply high-quality medicine to their knights, Chris didn't want to waste any of it on whatever scrapes they might gain during their trip.

One brief session with the resident trainer later, Chris decided she was adequately prepared for the trip and started toward the gates. She wasn't overly surprised to encounter the other two members of the Six Mighty Knights in front of the fortress exit. From the solemn expressions on Leo and Percival's faces she knew that both were already aware of the situation.

"Lady Chris, is it true what the rumors claim?" Leo asked with an anxiety that was unusual for the axewielder. "Sir Myriam, Sir Lanchet and Sir Borus were all killed by the Grasslanders' betrayal at the treatise?"

"Almost. Borus is still alive, though admittedly in terrible condition," Chris gently corrected her comrade-in-arms. Her lavender eyes frosted as she went on, "However, the rest is sadly true. Sir Lanchet and Sir Myriam were killed in the attack."

Relief and regret colored the eyes of both swordsman and axeman at this report. While the revelation that one of their own was still alive was comforting, both had held on to the slim hope that all of the rumors they'd overheard were false. Still, some good news was better than none at all.

"Treacherous savages," muttered Leo, shaking his head. "If I had only managed to capture those dogs…"

"Dogs?" echoed Chris, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, that's…"

"It's a sorry story indeed, Lady Chris," Percival interjected with a knowing smirk. "Suffice to say a couple of strays gave us the runaround. But this is hardly the time or place for such frivolities."

He lost his smile as he said this last. Chris nodded, then quietly pointed them in the direction of Borus's room. That done, both groups went their separate ways, Leo and Percival off to check on their wounded friend while Chris met her party at the gates.

Roland was already mounted while Louis stood beside her white stallion with the reins ready. Chris thanked her squire and took her seat. She didn't bother asking her elven companion if he had taken care of his business: she knew Roland well enough that the question would be meaningless.

"Are you prepared to depart, milady?" he asked.

"Yes, let's go," replied the captain. "The Council is surely waiting for our arrival."

With that, the two knights spurred their horses forward at a leisurely trot, with Louis following behind the riders. It was generally considered part of a squire's training for them to go without any sort of steed and the fact that he was apprenticed to one of the Six Mighty Knights made him the rule rather than the exception.

~ * ~

As Chris expected, the fact that it was only Roland, Louis and herself affected the rate at which they seemed to encounter monsters little. Holly Shrubs and Holly Fairies proved little real threat to the commander and archer, though the annoying little things chose to swarm the riders for a while.

Still, the most interesting thing they ran into on the road back was far from some local monster. As they followed the weaving pathway toward the edge of the forest, a pair of travelers came into view. One was clad in onyx armor, and looked disapprovingly down upon his panting, bent over partner.

"Uh… Master Fred, really," pleaded the younger traveler, "let's take a break for a bit… Please, Master Fred…"

"You just don't get it, do you, Rico?" the armored fighter shook his head, sounding disappointed. He launched into a speech that he sounded used to reciting: "If we rest, even for a moment, evil will prevail. Don't ever forget that, kid."

"I won't, Master. Really!"

Looking back up, the other shouldered her backpack, which looked almost as big as she was. She then gasped, looking past her partner to where Chris, Roland and Louis stood. Her already rosy dimples flushed red, and she ducked her head in a clumsy bow.

"Hmm?" the warrior turned around to see what she was looking at and stared intently at Chris.

"……… Looking for something?" Chris finally prompted, sick of being gaped at.

"Your armor… I suppose you are Zexen knights."

"You are quite right," replied Chris, nodding curtly before prompting, "And who might you be?"

"Allow me, madam." The swordsman executed a bow, then stood upright, proclaiming, "Fred Maximillian, the captain of the Maximillian Knights, at your service. I came from afar to carry out my grandfather's wish to conquer evil. I would like to learn anything you know that could help me."

"Greetings, Sir Fred. I am Chris Lightfellow of the Zexen Knights," Chris introduced herself. Uncertainty entered her voice as she inquired, "Just what do you mean, 'conquer evil'? Do you know anything about this, Roland?"

"…No, milady," the archer replied shortly with a curt shake of his head.

"There's a dark-skinned she-devil with a bow said to be running about wreaking chaos, accompanied by a lad and a duck-man," Fred supplied helpfully.

"Hmm…"

"I see," Fred said shortly, sensing he would not find the answers he sought here. "Sorry to have bothered you."

Chris didn't reply. The Maximillian knight looked down at the ground, grinding his teeth together briefly.

"Damn! I couldn't find a lead here, either…" he complained. Turning back to his companion, he proclaimed, "Rico, it seems we are off track. Let's head further north!"

"Yes, sir, yes!" nodded Rico enthusiastically. "But… could we rest for a few seconds?"

Completely ignoring her, Fred turned back to face Chris and nodded shortly, stating "We'll be off then. Safe travels to you."

With that, he turned and started up the higher path, while Rico gasped and hastily reshouldered her massive pack again.

"Sir! Wait!" she called out, giving chase. "Just a minute… I'm coming! Wait for me!"

Chris watched the pair hurry off, a softness touching her pale violet eyes briefly.

"I hope you find what you seek," she murmured quietly.

"…Hn. Evil is very much in the eye of the beholder," Roland observed in his usual dispassionate manner. "Seeking to eradicate it completely, while a noble cause, is also foolish. Such naiveté is unbecoming of a knight."

"I've never heard of the Maximillian knights before," Louis commented. "But he looked strong, anyway. I'm sure they'll be alright."

"……"

Chris nodded absently, uncertain how to reply to either of her companions. She then flicked the reins once, urging her ivory steed forward. Debates about the validity of such concepts as fighting 'evil' could come later. The Council was waiting for the return of their Silver Maiden…


	12. Homecomings

__

Now for the Karayan side of things… For those confused, for the most part these events take place in roughly the same time period as the previous chapter. Meaning that while Chris and Louis are going to check on Salome, Roland and Borus, Aila, Sergeant Jordi and Melville are… well, see for yourself. Also, see the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Homecomings * ~

Even the sunlight seemed cold that morn, pale shafts breaking through the dense clouds to cast undesired illumination upon the pitiful remains of Karaya Village. Though the flames had long burned themselves out, the inferno had swallowed everything. Not even charred skeletal woodwork remained: only a few lone, bent pieces of scorched poles remained half-standing, scant remnants of the clusters of huts that had once populated the field.

The large, flat boulder that marked one of the village's boundaries remained, its surface pockmarked with fresh gouges and blanketed with soot. It was, perhaps, one of the few pieces of evidence left to prove that the settlement had ever existed in the first place.

The only other surviving proof could be fond just beyond that stone, kneeling upon the freshly churned ground and facing row upon row of mounds of earth that had not been present before.

Tan fingers, already caked with dirt, clutched at the ground, palms pressing against the yielding soil. Curls of dark brown hair fell down from their high bindings to frame the grimly set visage of the young woman. Her head was bowed, eyes closed, but her shoulders remained stiff, defiant despite her crouching posture.

Flanking the kneeling archer were her two comrades-in-arms, each lost in their own private mourning. At her immediate left, Sergeant Jordi planted the hilt of his halberd in the dirt, holding the long shaft in both hands, looking off to one side through narrowed violet eyes. Flecks of dirt also decorated his fingers, though he had dusted his palms off as best he could. The white feathers seemed to naturally attract and contain grit and grime.

(Would that was the least of our problems, right now…) mused the drake bitterly.

He cast a sideways glance toward the youngest of their number. Melville failed to notice this, for the Zexen lad's misty tan eyes were focused upon the kneeling Aila. His own dirt-encrusted hands hung at his side, several of the limp fingers lightly brushing the small blade buckled to his belt. His posture just screamed out how inexperienced the self-proclaimed knight truly was with such situations.

The sergeant had seen similarly grim scenes of slaughter before. It never got any easier. A part of Jordi wished it never would: what would it say about what he had become if he ever became accustomed to witnessing such tragedy?

(Helping people bury their friends and family… never gets any easier either. Particularly when the ones doing the burying are only children…)

At the very least, they could be thankful Aila was not among the bodies that had to be dealt with. Swift application of the strongest medicine they carried helped ensure the nasty slice that was dealt to her stomach sealed almost immediately. There was little chance of infection, let alone a scar, though the front of her leather tunic would have to be stitched up later. After all, the low-level medicines they carried weren't potent enough to carry the more mystical benefits Rune Magic endowed, like instantaneous repair of torn clothing…

Had the Silver Maiden completed her strike the way she originally intended, then a petty matter such as the rip in her leathers would have been moot.

(But she didn't kill her. She didn't kill us. …Is this the ironheads' definition of mercy? To leave a couple of weakened Grasslanders alive to witness a village going up in flames around them?)

The Duck Clan warrior shook his head slowly. It was still more compassion than he expected from the reputed Zexen Queen of Ice. And, somehow, her sparing of their lives seemed insignificant compared to the torching of the village she had undoubtedly ordered herself.

After the fires died down sufficiently, the sergeant had set about the grisly task of shifting through the ashes and disposing properly of the bodies. Complicating the matter further was the mallard's lamentable inexperience with the tribal traditions. He was aware of the basic, but the specific rites and methods were completely unknown to him. That, plus he wasn't aware what would be considered correct in light of the sorrowful circumstances.

Traditionally, Karayan warriors who were killed on the field of battle were cremated, their ashes spread to the winds. But the village should not have been considered a battlefield by any means, and the thought of consigning what remained of the victims to such a fate seemed… wrong, somehow, to Jordi.

Burial, then, appeared the best route. However, the sergeant was sadly ignorant of the prayers and rituals the Karayans used when entrusted the bodies of their own to the spirits of the earth. While hardly a superstitious duckling, Sergeant Jordi did respect the wishes of his longtime friends, and found the thought of not seeing them off as was proper for their tribe was upsetting.

"…The spirits will just have to forgive us," he murmured quietly.

Aila's silent appeal to the earth spirits would have to suffice for the time being. Maybe sometime in the future, if…once they managed to track down other survivors of the torching, a more experienced shaman could finish whatever they failed to address. Providing, of course, one still lived.

Another source of cold comfort for the sergeant was the knowledge that not all of the Karayans could have been slaughtered. Surely the chief and his warriors were still alive, and surely the ironheads could not have possibly been able to catch and murder every fugitive, every refugee.

He had never come across a body resembling Lulu's, for example. The mostly brunette boy's shock of scarlet bangs was unmistakable, and the fact he had yet to discover a child's body with any such distinction hopefully meant the boy was among the escaped natives. 

There had been too many small bodies, however, for him to draw much comfort from that. Jordi had also discovered Luce among the fallen. Closing his eyes, the mallard sent up a silent prayer that she was at peace and, if their paths should ever cross with Lulu's in the future, that he would not have to be the one to break such news to the boy.

Aila's parents also numbered among the fallen. Jordi was thankful the archer had not been able to see their bodies herself: they were buried before she was healed enough to join in the grim task. He preferred that her memories of them would be of their lives together, not dominated by the sad sight of their crushed, charred corpses buried amid the rubble of their hut.

(Children should never have to bury their parents so young. Not that the reverse is much better… But…)

Bowing his head, Sergeant Jordi shifted so that he was facing away from the burial valley. The mallard kept his eyes tightly shut, as his thoughts drifted down well-worn, private paths he would rather not share with either of his companions.

Melville didn't know what to make of what was happening. The Zexen lad gazed at the kneeling woman and the burial field stretching out before them in a sort of daze. He would have given anything to have a sense of unreality come over him. But his hands were stained from the graves he'd helped dig.

And the vision of Chris Lightfellow within the blazing inferno was burned irrevocably into his memory. Each detail etched with searing vividness, from the way the flames reflected bronze, copper and gold in the sheen of her silver braids to the terrible cold shade of frosted lavender her eyes had been in the instant she turned and saw Aila charging.

White Heroes generally don't go around slaughtering innocent villagers as a rule.

Surely, there had to be some explanation for this. The Zexen Council was supposed to be capable of explaining everything. But after witnessing the carnage with his own eyes -- and helping his comrades bury their neighbors and friends -- Melville wasn't entirely certain he wished to hear whatever their justifications might be.

Verdant eyes snapped open abruptly, and Aila stood. The huntress took great care to keep her shoulders stiff and back level as she turned to face her companions.

"What now, Sergeant?"

The tone she asked that question in was harsh, but to Aila much more preferable than showing any sign of resignation. There was no way that Jordi would respond the way she was partly hoping for: to cut a line back to the Zexen capital and confront the pigs on the Council directly. It was all too clear to her now they'd been planning this from the start. The treaty had been nothing more than a ploy…

"…The closest safe haven I can think of would be my village," the mallard replied after a pause. "We should head there to recuperate and plan out our next move."

Left unspoken was the prospect that other refugees of Karaya might have headed toward the Duck Clan Village for the same reason. To state such a hope aloud might very well jinx their chances. Aila nodded agreement; a few seconds later, Melville hesitantly followed suit.

They set off at once, Sergeant Jordi taking point while Melville hung back close to Aila. There was no reason to remain in the pitiful ruins of the torched village any longer, and all were eager to move on, though they each knew the memory of what they left behind there could never be discarded.

~ * ~

The trek through the northern Amur Plains was short and mercifully uneventful. The few scattered bands of monsters that crossed their path were all small fry, fuzzballs, rabbits carrying tiny axes, and the occasional oversized spider. Soon the trio was able to glimpse the outline of modest huts in the distance.

It was, perhaps, a bit too soon for Sergeant Jordi.

The most distinctive thing about the Duck Clan Village, apart from the obvious, was the fact that the entire community was built above a large expanse of water. The lake was mostly natural, although some select renovations had been made here and there when the growing town needed to expand.

All of the major businesses in the village, including the inn, magic, rune, item and appraisal shops, were located on the circular dock system at the edge of the lake that faced the Amur Plains. This was the only part of the village that could be accessed from dry land. All of their housing, as well as certain services such as their blacksmith, was situated within the boundaries of the water. Not only did this help serve as a natural defense against intruders, but even simple visitors couldn't access anything that wasn't on that singular boardwalk ring.

It seemed likely to the sergeant that if any other survivors had arrived, they would likely be hiding out within the rest of the community. That was the safest place, especially for any wounded refugees.

"Sergeant! Sergeant! What fortuitous timing!"

(Well, _this_ is certainly familiar,) mused Jordi, raising his eyebrow as two familiar faces came barreling toward him. Apparently the only thing that had changed about this pair was their ages.

"We need your help at once!" the taller of the twosome exclaimed, nervously adjusting the glasses resting on his beak.

"Not even a hello after all this time, Wilder?" Jordi murmured.

The bespectacled mallard flushed with embarrassment, and started to stammer out an apology, only to be stopped by Sergeant Jordi waving it off. The older duck gave his flustered friend an ironic smirk, lavender eyes gleaming.

"Nothing seems to please her!" cried the shorter and stouter duck, jogging up behind his partner. "We're at a total loss. We need you, Sergeant!"

"I've just arrived, and already duty calls," Jordi sighed, shaking his head.

"Please!" Wilder resumed his begging. "You're our best hope. No time for delays. Come quickly!"

With that, both of the younger mallards turned and scurried off the way they'd come, leaving Jordi shaking his head while Aila and Melville stared blankly after them. Both Karayan maiden and Zexen youth then looked at the sergeant. He shrugged in response to the unspoken questions in their eyes.

"We might as well see what they're so worked up about," he stated, starting down the wooden walkway into the main section of the village.

~ * ~

(…It is _so_ difficult to find good help these days…)

The young woman mentally rolled her eyes even while agreeing with the tired old truism. But then, what could she expect? So far all she'd been able to locate in this backwater village were a bunch of dithering ducks who seemed absolutely hell-bent on being of no assistance whatsoever to her cause.

According to most of the tomes she'd browsed through chronicling the history of the Flame Champion, however, 'the first of the Six Clans of Grassland to ally with the Fire Bringer was the noble Duck Clan, a race renowned for its talented warriors and guides.'

(So either they're all trying to conceal something from me, or the race has fallen a long way in the years since then…)

Facing the small crowd of flustered fowls before her, the noblewoman huffed and wondered if she was affording them entirely too much credit.

(No, they must know something! I refuse to believe I came all this way just to run into a dead end thanks to some daft ducks!)

Irritably she flicked her head back, causing her burnished auburn hair to ripple like a coppery waterfall with the movement. The delicate gloved fingers of her gesturing right hand briefly brushed against trailing bronze locks before both hands came to rest firmly on her hips. Lilly Pendragon was not about to be denied her due.

"I'll ask once more, but don't make me ask again!" she informed her audience. "Where is the Flame Champion? Will one of you answer me?!"

Her reward was a maddeningly blank stare from all of the mallards present.

"How should we know?" one of the ducks piped meekly, sounding very much like he expected to get his head bitten off for his query.

Lilly very nearly obliged him that. Rather than thunder at the imbecile for asking such an insipid question, however, she merely briefly squeezed her eyes shut and silently reminded herself, (This is an important mission for Tinto I'm on. It won't do to injure the locals. …Tempting as it is…)

"You must know something," she replied tersely, matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was quite frankly amazed at his idiocy. "Yet for some reason you refuse to tell. Why are you doing this?"

"We can't tell what we don't know!" feebly insisted another of the fowls.

Lilly's eyes snapped back open, revealing bright irises of an even more breathtakingly violet-blue hue than her flower namesake. Of course, the exasperated glare she was giving the crowd proved she was hardly as yielding or fragile as such a pretty name might yield one to believe. Woe befell anyone who dared underestimate the Pendragon lass.

"You just won't cooperate, will you?" she asked, keeping her voice tight, clipped, deadly.

"………"

A pair of ducks standing near the rear of the group shared a glance and a mutual shaking of heads. Apparently they thought Lilly would not see them. Her eyes narrowed further, and the Pendragon prepared to roar her displeasure at the duo.

"…Just what the heck is going on here?"

While the voice that asked that question was decidedly female, it did not come from the noblewoman. Lilly blinked and looked over to behold a trio of new arrivals. While one of the strangers was another duck -- at least he appeared to be in somewhat more suitable attire for a soldier -- she found it considerably more relieving that the other two were decidedly human.

"Thank goodness," she sighed, relief softening her features.

Unfortunately for the crowd, that softness swiftly passed as she took a step forward and nearly bumped into a couple of the ducks. She immediately glared at the offenders.

"Let me pass. I've had enough of you birdbrains!"

She accentuated her command with a stomp, and the crowd dissipated, the hapless ducks eagerly scurrying away from the girl's deadly stares. Once the path was clear, Lilly's face resumed its pleasurable smile, and she headed over to speak with the newcomers at once.

"I thought there were only ducks here," she commented to the other female, naturally gravitating towards her rather than the youngster at her side. "I'm glad I was wrong. You are?"

Leaf green eyes regarded the copper-haired noblewoman warily, dropping briefly to study the sheathed rapier strapped to her side. They lingered on the slender weapon for a few moments before shifting back up to study the unfamiliar face. The friendly smile she was offering now was a drastic change from the mask of anger those same features had been tightened into just seconds before.

For her part, Lilly took advantage of the other's hesitation to study the stranger before her as well. She estimated this bronze-skinned girl was a few years younger than she -- probably about fifteen or sixteen, she decided -- and clearly not as refined. The leathers she wore looked pretty enough, thanks to the intricate woven designs, but apparently she wasn't in the habit of taking care of her appearance, judging from the rather noticeable rip in the front of her tunic and the dirt coating her hands. Still, Lilly guessed she could be considered pretty -- in an earthy, rugged sort of way.

"Who's asking?" the newcomer finally inquired, fixing Lilly with a piercing emerald stare. "Tell us who you are!"

"Me?" Deciding to be amicable despite this girl's obvious lack of manners, Lilly rested one hand lightly on her own chest and introduced herself. "I am Lilly Pendragon, daughter of Gustaf, President of the Republic of Tinto. Now your turn. Your name?"

"…I'm Aila, huntress from the Karayan Clan," replied the younger woman, pressing one hand lightly against her chest in unconscious mimicry of the noblewoman.

"Karaya Clan?" echoed Lilly, raising one delicate eyebrow. "Never heard of it."

"……Well, I've never heard of the Republic of Tinto, either, so…" Aila shrugged disinterestedly.

The raised eyebrow twitched once before lowering as Lilly bit back a sarcastic response. After all, she should have foreseen that this Aila girl might not take too kindly to the suggestion that her clan wasn't too well known where she came from.

"Um… My name's Melville," interjected the lad standing beside her, apparently deciding the brief lull in the conversation meant it was time for his own introduction. "…And this is Sergea…"

"Anyway, Aila," Lilly cut in swiftly, drawing attention back to her, "I have questions for you. Tell me what you know of the--"

"Milady! We've obtained lodging!"

The shrill, oddly masculine voice sliced through the thread of conversation she was trying to weave between Aila and herself cleanly. The trio's attention was now focused upon the two men jogging toward them across the curving plank walkways. Lilly frowned.

"Just when I was getting somewhere…" she lamented under her breath.

She didn't bother looking over when the first of the men reached them, his partner close behind. The tall blonde's sprint clearly was taking its toll, since he needed to cup his gloved hands over his knees for support while panting for air. Lilly found his exhaustion all the more irritating.

(If you hadn't rushed in the first place,) she thought angrily, (then I might have gotten a little closer to my goal and you wouldn't be so short of breath.)

"My…lady…" he repeated in between gasps. "Thank you for… your patience. Your things are in your room."

"However, milady," warned his darker-skinned, less winded partner, "you may not be keen on the bed size or how close the water is. Our options are limited here."

"………" Lilly bowed her head further, the wide brim of her hat casting the upper half of her face into further shadow.

"?" The pair looked curiously at her, the blonde's face confused while his companion's expression was a tad more exasperated. Then she snapped her head around to glare at them, and both recoiled.

"You think me overly demanding?" she queried, jabbing an accusing finger at them. "Need I remind you that you asked what I wanted and I answered? Right?"

The hapless duo met her question with silence, which she took as abashed acquiesce. Her aggravated frown deepened, and she tossed her hair back again while striding between them, lightly brushing her gloved fingers through the trailing tresses.

"You two!" she huffed. "Fine, let's see. Which way is it?" Without really checking for whatever questionable guidance they might offer, she started off in the direction they had come from, following the raised walkway. "This way? Ah, this way."

"Milady, wait!" the blonde pleaded, jogging after her with his compatriot at his side, heedless of the trio of perplexed onlookers left behind.

"Who, or what, was that?" muttered Sergeant Jordi.

Aila shrugged, then started toward the inn, following the same pathway the strange girl in the huge hat and her cohorts had used. She was not entirely surprised when she pushed open the doors to be greeted with the sound of complaining.

"Was there nothing better? This room is too damp."

"Please understand, milady," pleaded the blonde attendant.

"Please!" his partner repeated.

"Are you still busy complaining?" Jordi commented as he, Aila and Melville walked inside.

Lilly turned around to see them. The mild annoyance coloring her face fled in favor of a bright smile as she recognized the trio as the ones she'd just met.

"Oh, you. What is it? Ah, you want to finish that talk of ours…"

"…Not particularly," Aila replied with a shake of her head.

"Oh, is that so." Lilly narrowed her eyes, losing her pleasant smile. "What might persuade you…"

"…Look, all I care about right now is getting a room here," the huntress muttered, averting her gaze. "It's been a long day already, and…"

"Well then, if that's the case…!" Lilly clapped her hands smartly together. "You can split our room with us! Samus, pay the good innkeeper for our three new guests."

"What?" Aila shook her head quickly. "Uh, really, that's okay…"

"We wouldn't want to impose…" interjected Sergeant Jordi.

"I insist!" Lilly smiled triumphantly. "Our stay will be far more pleasant if we can pass the time getting to know some of the locals." (And hearing more about what they know about the Flame Champion,) she added privately to herself.

Realizing there was no getting out of this debacle, Sergeant Jordi sighed and stepped aside, allowing the darker-skinned attendant to reach the desk and make the necessary changes. After that was taken care of, the group of six headed out the back door and into the hut the visitors had rented. Lilly didn't waste any time: as soon as the door closed behind them, she rounded on Aila.

"Now then. What do you want to discuss?"

(Let's get this over with…) "What were you going to ask before?" asked Aila.

"Ah! Right to the point!" gushed Lilly. "Now then, before we were so rudely interrupted," -- she cast a quick glare back in the direction of her escorts to ensure they knew exactly what she meant -- "I was simply going to ask what you know of the Flame Champion. If you could just tell me where to locate him, you'll be justly rewarded…"

"'The Flame Champion'?" Sergeant Jordi repeated, eyebrows raising. "Didn't expect such a topic from someone like you…"

"Who's that?" Melville questioned, looking confused.

"I suppose you wouldn't know, being Zexen," Jordi commented, turning his attention to the lad. "Over fifty years ago, the Grasslands were invaded by Harmonian forces. They quickly began to conquer the lands, and would have seized control of everything had it not been for the Flame Champion and his Fire Bringer. Under his guidance, the Clans were united against the enemy. Even Holy Harmonia couldn't stand against the Six Clans, the Keepers of the Flame and the Flame Champion himself."

"Wow…" Melville breathed.

"However, after the Harmonia war ended, the Flame Champion and many of his comrades simply vanished without a trace. No one is certain what exactly became of them." The sergeant shrugged. "Considering how many years have passed since then, they may have all passed away."

"Or so they would have you think," scoffed Lilly. "However, I have reason to believe that the Flame Champion is still alive and well. That's why I've come here: to investigate and learn the truth of the matter."

"Out to this backwater village, on the basis of some silly rumors," muttered the darker of her attendants under his breath.

Clearly, however, his complaints were not muffled enough, as Lilly shot him a nasty glare, violet eyes flashing with anger.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Samus?" she snapped. "The tales of the Flame Champion often state that the Duck Clan were the first to align with his Fire Bringer against Harmonia. Obviously this village is the sensible place to begin our search!"

Samus flinched, as did his partner, who looked sympathetic to the other attendant's plight. Thinking them properly cowed, Lilly turned back to face her guests.

"Moving right along, since no further information seems to be available here, I've decided to go to the Lizard Clan next. I've heard rumors of an attack of some sort there. But Reed and Samus here are useless at navigating Grassland. It took them ages just to get us here! So, how would you like to guide me to the Lizard Clan? Naturally, I'm prepared to pay you for your time. About… four thousand potch, say?"

"…Sergeant?" Aila looked questioningly at the mallard.

"Well… I can't see how staying here does anyone any good," the sergeant replied thoughtfully. "If the Lizard Clan has really been attacked, we may as well investigate."

"All right." Aila nodded in agreement.

"Fantastic!" piped Lilly. "Now, let's work out the details. I assume you know of the Lizard Clan's travel routes?"

"They use underground passages stretching who knows how far through the Grasslands," replied Jordi. "It happens to be one of their greatest strengths, since it allows them to move without having to deal with…interference."

"Our scouts concur. There appears to be a major junction in their network located under the ruins to the west of here. Take me there, then introduce me to the Lizard Clan upon arrival. I'll pay you two thousand potch now, and you'll receive the rest upon our safe arrival. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Sergeant Jordi nodded.

"Now that our plans are settled, prepare to depart," Lilly proclaimed, clapping her hands together once.

"Milady!" exclaimed a flustered Reed.

"We've done nothing but hurry about for days, then scurry about like ants after arriving. May we not stop for a night to rest properly?"

Again Lilly glared at him, snapping, "Are you a man or a mouse? You were taught to 'strike while the iron is hot', correct? Well, weren't you?"

"………" Samus averted his eyes, still looking quite peeved about the situation.

"Lilly, the room has already been paid for, and we also need to rest before departing," Sergeant Jordi spoke up matter-of-factly. "Surely your investigation can wait. You do want to have your guides in top condition, correct?"

"…Fine! But I expect to be off as soon as possible!" Folding her arms, Lilly wrinkled her nose and added, "I do hope you at least have baths in this village. You obviously all need one."

"Sorry," Aila spat bitterly. "I wasn't exactly thinking about how dirty I was getting when I buried the rest of my family."

She took a small measure of satisfaction in the stunned expression Lilly took on at her sharp words. The huntress then turned and stormed out of the hut, Jordi and Melville close behind her. The door slammed on its hinges.

"Mi…milady…" Reed's voice trembled. "What kind of guides, exactly, have you gotten us…?"

"Do be quiet, Reed," snapped Lilly, glossing over her own sudden feelings of trepidation with a flash of anger at her attendant. "It's nothing for us to worry about."

Even as she stated that, however, the noblewoman secretly resolved to force the whole story out of one of the Grasslanders later. If they were to be traveling together, after all, it would only make sense to find out all she could about them, correct?


	13. Heading South

__

A chapter focusing on the Twelfth Unit of the Southern Frontier Defense Force. You can see the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings if you need to…

~ * Heading South * ~

He would not cry.

He was a Karayan warrior, and warriors never cry. Not even when they see their village go up in flames.

Even if they did cry, it definitely wouldn't be in front of a bunch of strangers. Not even when one of those strangers saved his life and led him out to safety.

(But, then, a real warrior wouldn't have needed any help at all. They woulda just wiped out that stupid ironhead and all his friends, no problem. And a real warrior woulda been able to save…)

Biting the inside of his lip, Lulu shook his head violently, as though the movement would help him shrug off the gravity of the previous night's events. But there was no changing the facts: he wasn't a great Karayan fighter. Most of them had been called away to the treatise meeting, which obviously hadn't gone so well considering what happened.

No, he was just a frightened little boy who couldn't do anything to keep his mother from being cut down by an ironhead monster. Still…

"Kid, you okay back there?"

The sai-wielder, the ruffian, was looking back in his direction.

(You saw Karaya burn. Do you _think_ I'm okay?!)

An older boy probably would have also known some colorful terms to further elaborate on what exactly he thought of the rogue's question. As it was, Lulu could only glare, narrowing his eyes to further express his displeasure. The recipient of his stare quailed backward and held up his hands in a calming gesture.

"Okay, okay, never mind! Jeez…"

As Ace shrugged and turned away, Queen turned her face forward again, rolling her dark brown eyes as she tuned out the predictable sound of Joker making some whispered snipe at his partner and Ace's outraged reaction.

(Really, what is he thinking…? Wait… Maybe 'thinking' is giving him too much credit.)

After it had become clear that what remained of the native village was evacuated for the most part, Geddoe had determined that the best course of action they could take for now was to return to Caleria and make their report. With the Karayan kid in tow, they couldn't exactly return to Vinay de Zexay or Brass Castle. The Lizard Clan homeland might have been a workable option, except nobody in their group wanted to risk getting caught in the middle of another attack.

So the five mercenaries had turned to the mountain trail, and were currently picking their way through the familiar twists and turns of the rocky pathway.

At their leader's command, they had paired off, traversing the terrain in teams of two. She was on point with Geddoe, sticking close to his side. Ace and Joker were paired together as well -- an arrangement that both complained about, despite the fact they ended up working side by side more often than not. Jacques and his oversized bow-gun took up the rear, the boy tagging alongside him.

Queen could see two obvious reasons for this. Firstly, Lulu, the Karayan youth, was hardly adjusted to mountain travel. Allowing him to remain near the back of the group gave him time to catch up without slowing everyone down nearly as much.

Then, of course, was the fact that Lulu seemed a bit more comfortable with the taciturn marksman than with any of the other mercenaries. Queen could understand that: between the way Ace and Joker bickered all the time, and Geddoe's stony demeanor, it was hardly surprising that Lulu chose to stay close to the man who'd apparently saved his life instead of trying to approach any of the others.

(He'll come around sooner or later. He has to. He'll likely be stuck with us until we can find a safe place for him. Wherever that is…)

Caleria wasn't a good option. Even if they could find someplace to drop off the boy, there was no accounting for his safety once they left. After all, his heritage was obvious, and those dirty leathers weren't exactly helping in any way. He might as well have had a sign proclaiming 'Karayan Refugee' hanging around his neck.

The trail wound through some waterfalls, the crystal clear rapids cascading down over the rocky overhang and directly past the path, coating everything in a faint mist. Queen was unashamed to admit to herself that she found this the best part of the trip through the mountains. No matter how many times they passed through this area, it still seemed to hold a certain aura of natural beauty.

She spared an over-the-shoulder glance and was not surprised to see awe etched on Lulu's face as he took in the cliffs for the first time. The wide-eyed wonder he showed while passing the liquid curtains was much more pleasing than the stubborn scowl he'd been screwing up his face into for most of the journey.

As they passed that area and rounded the curve in the path, Lulu stared back the way they'd come for a long moment before snapping his head forward and catching the female looking back at him. Queen smiled, a gentle turning upward of the corners of her lips, then sighed when Lulu abruptly broke eye contact. He glared steadfastly to one side, looking away from her and the rest of their companions.

Unfortunately, this wasn't missed by Ace. The self-proclaimed charmer smirked broadly, the perfect snide little comment coming to mind. He opened his mouth, ready to put Queen in her place… and was cut off by Geddoe's left arm snapping upward suddenly, signaling for silence.

Lulu looked up, oblivious to what the sign meant. He saw Geddoe slide his sword from its sheath and start forward at a much slower pace than before. The rest of the mercenaries followed their commander's example, Queen placing one hand on the hilt of her own sword while Ace fingered his sais and Jacques cocked his bow-gun. Instinctively the lad gripped his dagger tightly, easing it out of its holder as he followed the rest of the group forward.

Once they rounded the corner, Lulu understood what was going on.

There was a fork in the pathway just ahead, the trail they were on widening into a flat plateau and breaking off into two separate roads at the far side. More immediately concerning, however, was the huge beast sitting right in the center of the clearing.

Lulu swallowed hard as he took in the sight of the towering creature. Two draconian heads rested on serpentine necks, while a third appeared to jut directly from its squat body. Four stubby legs held it upright: at least it seemed it wouldn't be capable of quickly pursuing anyone or anything.

Not that it needed to do much chasing, considering it was seated directly in their path.

"…Another damn monster," muttered Joker under his breath, narrowed black eyes scanning up and down the behemoth. "You would think somebody would find a more permanent solution to this problem…"

The Karayan child gaped at the old man, wondering just how bad the monster population got in the mountains. True, they'd run into a few fights along the way, with overgrown salamanders and the like, but this thing pretty much topped everything else.

"Concentrate on taking out one of the heads first," Geddoe instructed. His single eye was a mere slit in his stern face as he pointed with his raised blade at the red-skinned dragon-snake head. "…That one."

"O…okay." Lulu heard himself choke out the words, and winced: he hadn't meant to sound so frightened. Never mind that he was pretty freaked out, that didn't mean he wanted these guys to know!

His five companions looked at him; Jacques was the only one who didn't raise any eyebrows at his statement.

"Uh, no offense, kid, but why don't you hang back here while we take care of this?" Ace said with a crooked smile that was supposed to be comforting but came off more condescending. "No sense in risking you getting hurt…"

Queen resisted the urge to slap her forehead at that remark. Of all the wrong things to say in this situation, that was about the worst of them. She wasn't at all surprised to see Lulu's bottom lip jut out into a dangerous pout, his green eyes harden, and his chest puff out as he assumed what he no doubt thought was a threatening pose.

"I'm a proud Karayan warrior, and I will fight!" he declared. "You just worry about yourself, old man!"

"What?!" Ace spluttered.

"Heh." Joker smirked at hearing the same term that he got called so often directed to the same person that usually used it.

"………" Geddoe gave the stubborn little boy an inscrutable look. After a moment, he turned away, facing the monster while commenting, "If you think you can help, then do as I said and watch out for yourself."

"But Boss…" whined Ace, giving his commander an incredulous look.

His protest fell on deaf ears, for Geddoe was already approaching the behemoth, Queen and Joker close on his heels. Ace sighed heavily, then hurried after them, fumbling with his sais. Lulu stayed close to Jacques and tried not to look too scared as they joined the rest of the group in challenging the creature.

The beast greeted its opponents with a horrible shriek that tore from three throats. The mercenaries replied with a united charge -- which consisted of only Ace and Queen. The shock of seeing them dash toward the red-scaled head alone was enough to throw Lulu off balance for a moment, and he cast a wide-eyed stare at the other three.

As soon as he laid eyes upon them, however, he was hit by sudden recognition. Wisps of energy flickered around Geddoe and Joker -- green around the former, red around the latter. Both were calling upon the runes they carried, clearly planning to use magical might to back up their comrades' physical attacks. As for Jacques, he was taking aim, and released a bolt that whizzed through the air and buried itself in crimson hide.

(Wind Spirit, lead my blade your speed!)

Lulu felt the rush of a rapid current flowing from the Sword of Cyclone rune in his hand and surging up into his upraised dagger. The curved steel shimmered, wisps of pale blue-green weaving round it.

Then, with a deep breath and without really considering what else he might do, Lulu charged forward. Nearing the monster, he sprang and swiped, and felt a definite rush of pride as he felt his strike connect, tearing a small piece of scarlet scales free. Landing hard, he stumbled backward until a hand grasped his shoulders. Looking up, Lulu saw Ace smirking down at him.

"Not bad, kid," he commented.

Lulu started to smile, then remembered abruptly he was still peeved at Ace for his earlier comment and settled for a glare. The ruffian looked a bit vexed by this, but before he could say anything, Queen was in front of them.

"Come on, boys, keep it up!" she commanded. "This thing isn't going to drop dead on its own!"

She charged the beast again, her blade singing through the air and leaving another gash in the scarlet neck. Ace and Lulu followed close on her heels, dodging the furious snaps of the behemoth's multiple jaws. Occasionally Lulu caught sight of crossbolts striking the serpentine neck, and he took some heart in knowing the archer wasn't standing idle.

"_MOVE!_" Joker's deep-throated roar echoed through the canyon.

It startled Lulu enough that he hesitated, looking back at the old man curiously. Then he gagged when a hand clamped down on the back of his collar and yanked, _hard_. He was pulled backwards, away from the monster, and he would have turned and protested this rough treatment immediately if it hadn't been for one minor detail.

That detail being that a ring of flame pillars suddenly shot up from the soil, forming a rough circle around the roaring beast. The inferno swiftly contracted, the towering blaze engulfing the three-headed demon. Its twin necks snapped backward as an unholy shriek ripped from the thrashing creature.

Barely had the fire started to subside than a spear of electricity impaled the middle head. Currents of green-tinted lightning surged outward through the twitching body, and for an instant Lulu could have almost sworn he caught sight of the beast's misshapen skeleton.

"Just a quick tip, kid," a dry voice said close to his ear, and Lulu raised his huge eyes from the grisly sight to see Ace smiling down at him, one hand still gripping his collar. "When Joker tells you to move, you move. Okay?"

He grinned, one corner of his mouth rising a bit higher than the other. Lulu grimaced and wiggled free of his grasp. In one angry, jerky motion he sheathed his dagger, then hurried back over to where Jacques was standing close to Geddoe and Joker.

"Hey, you're welcome!" Ace shouted after him.

"Don't be so sensitive," chided Queen, clapping her hand over one of his shoulders briefly while striding past. Approaching Lulu, she smiled at the young Karayan and commented, "Hey, good job back there, Lulu."

"Psssh… Yeah, for a kid," muttered Ace.

Queen slapped Ace lightly on the back of the head, shooting him a dirty look. (Does he want to bond with the kid or not? Real great start he's off to here… Jeez…)

Geddoe stood regarding the corpse of the behemoth for a moment. His single onyx eye glittered as he silently studied the beast, ensuring it was really and truly dead. Then, apparently satisfied, he turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the lower of the two paths before them.

"Let's go," he instructed, not even glancing back at the rest of his team.

They followed their commander without question, though Lulu looked back at the monster's remains for far longer than the rest did. There were plenty of things on his mind, but one thought stood out above all others.

(Man… Maybe I should train in magic too… I mean, I love my Sword of Cyclone rune and all, but still… _wow…_)

~ * ~

"Well, here we are, kid," announced Ace, sweeping one hand before him in a grand arc. "Welcome to Caleria."

Lulu looked around, a childish sense of awe temporarily overshadowing everything else. Having never visited any village other than his own, his concept of what 'Caleria' would look like was colored largely by what he'd heard of Zexen settlements.

But this, however, was far from anything he'd pictured.

There was a wall around the city, constructed of bricks the same color of the surrounding sand, but there was no set of looming doors, just an open archway towering high overhead. Once they passed underneath, Lulu found himself staring at a scene unlike any he'd imagined.

It was crowded, but not with buildings and weapon-toting ironheads, but with open-air stands. Colorful urns flanked wooden booths, brightly dyed fabrics and furs stretched taut over poles to supply needed shade to dealers and customers. There were a few buildings, but all were low and squat, looking more like natural extensions of the walls flanking the area than anything else.

And the people…! Most of the citizens he saw milling about were darker in skin tone than even Karayans like himself, though they were also clad in so much light-colored fabric. Faces were partly obscured by the white turbans and veils that almost everyone seemed to be wearing, yet the protective headgear was not nearly as confining as the thick metal helmets from which the ironheads got their nickname…

"Well, I'm off to the office," Ace declared, stretching out his arms over his head and heaving a sigh. Turning to face the rest of the group, he added, "I take it I'll meet you guys at the usual place?"

Geddoe nodded once, a simple, swift inclination of his head. That seemed to be all the answer that the ruffian needed. Lulu, for his part, was completely clueless about what they meant.

"All right then!" Ace narrowed his eyes at Joker suddenly, trading his jovial expression for a stern one. "Just ease up on the booze, will you? If I come back and find you raging drunk…"

"It'll be just like every other time you've gone to handle the paperwork," interjected Queen with a smirk.

"Don't worry, I'll save some for you," Joker assured, brushing past his partner and heading off toward the closest building.

"We'll leave a light on for you," Queen added. Grasping Lulu's shoulder, she smiled down at the clueless kid and said, "Come on, Lulu, let me introduce you to some of the Calerian shopping…"

"Um…" Lulu cast a 'help me' look toward the ever-silent Jacques; something about the woman's tone tipped him off that this wasn't going to be a fun experience.

"………" Jacques blinked slowly, then turned on his heel. "…I'll be… around."

With that, the marksman wandered off to who knew where, leaving a sweating Lulu in the hands of a smiling Queen. She guided him in a different direction, while Ace sighed heavily and stomped off, muttering under his breath something about 'of all the teammates in the world…'

Left alone standing under the gates, Geddoe shrugged, uncaring, before going to join Joker at the designated meeting place.

~ * ~

It wasn't until later that Lulu discovered that 'the usual place' apparently translated to 'the tavern closest to the gate'.

Quite a bit of the charm of being in a village so starkly different than his homeland had been worn away by the horror that was 'shopping with Queen'. The female mercenary might have meant well, but being forced to try on spirits only knew how many different sets of clothes -- most of them made of scratchy and itchy fabrics -- sapped a lot of his enthusiasm. They'd finally settled on an outfit that didn't squeeze or irritate him… but that didn't mean he planned on wearing it again before he absolutely had to.

It had taken a lot of yelling and whining and generally making a spectacle of himself before Lulu had gotten Queen to concede that he could stay in his old leathers for as long as they remained in Caleria. A small victory, but one he relished nonetheless.

He was uncomfortable enough as it was right now without having to wear unfamiliar clothing. Besides, he had a sinking feeling that winning arguments with these strange fellows would be rare occurrences from now on.

Lulu sulked. His posture was the classic picture of youthful defiance mixed with reluctant compliance. Both arms lay pressed flat against the surface of the wooden table, legs swinging back and forth beneath him. He hated this bench he was being forced to sit at with a passion; it was uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

Then, too, was the fact that Joker was acting very oddly…

The slam of a tankard and the splash of its contents sloshing about punctuated an incoherent shout. Lulu lifted his chin from the edge of the table and looked over. Joker was laughing, which he found pretty odd, because he hadn't heard any jokes.

The fire magician had already worked himself into this state by the time Queen brought him here. He seemed happy despite the fact most of his face was a bright red, and Lulu couldn't understand most of what the man babbled between slurps from his mug. He'd obviously had a lot of the stuff, if one could judge from the empty cups littering his corner of the table.

The strangest thing about it was that Queen and Geddoe seemed to be drinking the same stuff, but weren't acting half as out of sorts as Joker was.

(Maybe it has something to do with how they're drinking it?) Lulu wondered. After all, they were sipping from their own mugs slowly, with none of the vigor and intensity Joker was showing. Meanwhile, the old man seemed to be playing a game with himself: seeing how much he could down in one gulp.

Lulu turned his head to look questioningly back at Jacques. The marksman wasn't having whatever the rest of the mercenaries were. All that sat before him was a single, thin glass of orange juice, and Lulu wasn't even certain that Jacques had touched it yet.

Then he looked back at the cup sitting in front of him, eyeing its contents distrustfully. Nobody had even asked him what he wanted: Queen had simply plopped down a few potch in front of the waiter and asked him to bring something called a soda.

Nobody thought to tell him what a soda was, either. Lulu glared at the alien liquid, trying to decide whether or not to see if it tasted any good. Eventually, he sighed and brought the glass to his lips, tipping it just enough that the beverage touched his lips.

(…I guess… it's not bad…)

His hesitant sips soon turned to huge slurps, but just as Lulu was about to decide that maybe, just maybe, not everything about Caleria was so bad, the doors that separated the tavern from the inn burst open with a loud slam. Turning in his seat, Lulu beheld four tough-looking strangers standing there.

The apparent leader of the group had a rather large sword hanging off the back of his green jacket. A matching bandana was tied round his head, doing little to tame the shock of bright orange hair crowning his head. As he strode closer to their table, smirking nastily, Lulu noticed a scar running over the bridge of his nose. The odd thing about it was, the mark was almost perfectly vertical.

(How'd he manage that?) wondered Lulu. He knew plenty of Karayan warriors who gained marks of honor in battle, but none had ever gotten such a perfectly vertical scar running over any part of their body…

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Geddoe and his unit," the scarred man drawled, flopping into the seat next to the indifferent commander. "Didn't realize you were back in Caleria."

Lulu felt even more confused. If that was the case, then why had the guy strolled over so casually? He was certainly acting as if he'd expected to meet Geddoe here. He slurped his soda, eyeing the strange man and his posse suspiciously over the rim of his glass.

The other three, he noticed, hadn't taken seats at all. One of the men, a barrel-chested guy with what appeared to be a huge pot lid strapped to his back, was standing directly behind Geddoe, while a dog-faced man with short brown fur and an eyepatch just like the commander's was standing to his left. Lulu vaguely remembered being told that such people were called 'kobolds', but he'd developed a very different mental picture of what they looked like in mind from those tales. This one didn't look anything like a friendly, cheerful, overgrown puppy… pity.

The last of the newcomers was a female, and Lulu found himself staring at her even more than he did the dog-man. She was wearing a metal gauntlet on her left arm, and there was a sword strapped to her waist, but the rest of her attire didn't exactly look like that of a warrior. She had the oddest expression on her face, too; her eyes seemed to have pale blue shadows permanently over them, and she was glancing about from side to side while striding over to where Queen was sitting.

"Where has Ace gotten to?" she queried in a syrupy tone. "Did he get himself killed during your last mission, however long ago that was?"

The nonchalant fashion in which she asked this made Lulu shiver a little, though he fought to conceal it. He saw Queen bristle too, and the expression on the dark-haired woman's face made it clear she disapproved of the other woman as well.

"Nah, he's just off finishing some paperwork," Joker supplied.

"Oh." The blonde didn't so much as glance in the martial artist's direction to acknowledge his comment, her gaze remaining solidly fixed on Queen. "Well then, could you give him this message for me?" She leaned closer to the sitting woman, but didn't drop her voice, allowing it to carry clearly through the tavern as she said, "Tell him to stop writing me all those annoying little letters begging me to take him back. It really is pathetic."

"Ace…" Joker growled, shaking his head and glaring down at his ale before taking another deep gulp.

"You will be a dear and tell him that, won't you, Queen?" the other woman cajoled.

"Um, old lady?" piped Lulu suddenly. "Did you know that your top's too small? You look ready to fall out when you bend over like that."

"Hmm?" The blonde looked over at him though half-lidded eyes. Straightening up, she brushed a lock of hair out of her face and said haughtily, "Queen, since when did your group adopt this little urchin?"

"No, really, your shirt's too small." Lulu nodded decisively, wide green eyes never breaking contact with her disdainful gaze. "It's really gross. You need to get clothes that'll fit you, old lady."

"Old… lady?" One of the blonde's eyebrows twitched, and she exploded, "I'm only thirty-two, you brat!"

"So _that's_ how you get a lady to admit her real age!" Joker observed loudly, then dissolved into hearty guffaws and took another long drink from his tankard.

The busty woman's eyebrow was developing a very nervous twitch, and she was glaring at Lulu in a very unfriendly manner. Lulu just blinked innocently up at her and sipped his soda,

"Let it go, Elaine," the man with the oversized pot lid on his back instructed. Both his expression and tone were decidedly neutral.

"Anyway, Geddoe, I take it you're here to try and cash in on the latest orders from Holy Harmonia," the orange-haired man continued. "Well, you're wasting your time. My unit and I are going to round up the Flame Champion and the Fire Bringer and bring them in ourselves."

"………"

Geddoe took another slow sip of his drink, appearing wholly bored by the other man's boast. However, Lulu thought for a moment that he saw the commander's eyebrow twitch slightly upward. That was the only sign that he might be remotely interested in something, and even Lulu wasn't certain he'd seen it correctly.

"The orders were just handed down. Apparently, this Flame Champion might have something that Holy Harmonia wants. Too bad for him and his little band, eh?" and a cruel chuckle curled Scar-nose's lips upward. "To be hunted down by the best mercenary unit around…"

"…We haven't accepted the job, yet, so how can that be true?" observed Geddoe in a dry, near monotone voice.

The man beside him bristled and got to his feet, finally vacating the seat next to Geddoe. He glared at the stoic commander for a few heartbeats, steely eyes flashing behind his ragged bangs. Then his cocky smirk returned, almost stronger for its momentary absence.

"More's the pity," he sneered. "But I guess you know when you're already beaten. Just don't start kicking yourself after we get the reward and you come up with nothing."

With that, he strode back out of the tavern, signaling the rest of his teammates to follow him with a snap of his fingers. The kobold followed close on his master's heels, and Lulu reconsidered his earlier assessment: he looked a great deal more like a war mastiff than anything else. Big-pot-lid man was next, and the busty blonde he assumed was named Elaine cast him one last dirty glance before strutting after her companions.

A few minutes after they departed, Ace pushed through the swinging doors, a wide smile on his face as he rejoined his companions.

"Hey, Boss!" he greeted Geddoe. "You'll never guess what big new assignment I heard all about at the office!"

"I think we can hazard a guess," Queen deadpanned.


	14. Helping Hands

__

Finally, the introductory chapter for everyone's favorite wimpy castle master! Bear with me here, as what happens in this installment does have bearing on later events, and needed to be related. Oh, and see the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Helping Hands * ~

Thomas had never dreamed that managing a castle would involve so much walking.

Actually, he had never imagined that he would ever end up in charge of a castle in the first place, so who was he to judge? When he'd arrived in Vinay del Zexay searching for his father, the distinguished council member had shipped him off to Budehuc with little more than some curt orders and a piece of parchment proclaiming him the latest master of the lakeside mansion. There'd been no explanation of what, exactly, he was expected to do.

Since the property wasn't in pristine condition -- even without including the massive wreckage of some poor soul's ship that had somehow been incorporated into the building's design -- and their financial situation was rather pitiful, he was expected to figure out some way of solving their problems. So far, the only idea Thomas had been able to come up with was turning the grounds into a free trade zone. Such areas were common in his homeland, and it would be wonderful if he could bring that same sense of community to his new home.

Unfortunately, the success of such a venture hinged on how well known the area was. Budehuc was a fairly isolated place, tucked back on a coastline on the edge of Zexen and Grassland boundaries. The farming village of Iksay was within walking distance, but the townspeople living there couldn't be expected to help support the huge castle by themselves.

Which was why Thomas was currently trekking through the expansive plains south of the castle in hopes of spreading word of Budehuc Castle and its free state.

He was far from alone in this endeavor, of course. While Thomas still wasn't quite certain he was capable of becoming the great castle master that Budehuc's residents expected -- not to mention needed -- he was still more comfortable in that role than as a fighter. The short sword he carried was dull-edged; just as well, since he worried about stumbling and injuring either himself or one of his companions by accident.

So, like what he supposed was proper for a castle owner, he only traveled with an entourage. Although… he doubted many other manor lords employed the same types of bodyguards he possessed.

At his side, as she had been practically since his arrival at Budehuc, was the spirited young commander of the guards. …Never mind the tiny detail that her command consisted of merely herself when he'd first arrived. Since then, the ranks had swelled to include a stray dog she'd found recently and some of the more adventurous newcomers.

…Okay, so Cecile wasn't exactly your typical captain. Still, despite having only known her for a short time, Thomas was confident the girl was capable of handling the responsibility resting on her armor-clad shoulders. She was certainly talented in wielding that spear she carried, though it was longer than she was tall.

Small, pudgy fingers curled around his wrist, and Thomas looked down into shining brown eyes and a cheerful face. He smiled, and the beaming face beneath him brightened, before the girl abruptly released her grip and jogged ahead, giggling, the loose ends of the white ribbons binding her hair up into twin buns fluttering in the breeze.

On his last excursion, Thomas had stumbled across little Shabon lost in the streets of Vinay del Zexay. He'd helped reunite her with her traveling companions, and after learning that the trio were musicians, invited them to Budehuc. After learning more about the situation, the three had offered to accompany him. Apparently, their own tours helped them develop into surprisingly skilled fighters when the times called for it.

To be perfectly honest, Thomas had certain reservations about bringing the buskers along. When he'd invited them to Budehuc, he'd been thinking more along the lines of how wonderful it would be to have the bards entertain the other guests, not in terms of fighting ability. But he certainly couldn't refuse them the right to come along if they wished.

Besides, they couldn't be any worse warriors than he was.

Watching Shabon run ahead of him, circling round the legs of her two elder companions while laughing and shouting, almost allowed Thomas to forget that there were some very dangerous monsters that could possibly be lurking in the fields ahead.

After hugging the leg of the ever-quiet Toppo, the lanky fiddler placing one hand on top of her head and ruffling her short brown locks in response, Shabon wiggled free with a squeal and dashed over to the last member of their party.

…Or members, rather. Depended on how you looked at things.

"Hey, settle down!" the teenaged girl laughed, running the fingers of her left hand through her tan locks.

"Yeah, 'cause you know there are plenty of monsters out there ready to gobble a sweet little morsel like you up!" and the gruff, rasping voice ended its declaration with a snap of its gleaming white teeth and a loud, "GULP!"

Shabon, utterly unfazed by this, giggled and grabbed the nose of the aggressor with both pudgy hands. The lupine beast let out a startled yelp and flailed its arms.

"'Ey, leggo!"

"Serves you right for teasing her, Branky!" declared the blue-clad girl, rolling her eyes.

"………" Thomas blinked twice, then shook his head, words failing him.

Truth be told, the young master still didn't know quite what to make of the pair, despite the fact that Mel and Branky had been the first ones who'd decided to move to Budehuc after hearing about it from him. Mel was a nice enough girl, so long as you ignored the huge black and white wolf puppet that dominated her right arm. Branky never hesitated to speak out, barking out insults and rude remarks with no regard whatsoever to anyone else, not even Mel…

For her part, Mel insisted she had no skill as a ventriloquist, and as odd as it seemed, Thomas was inclined to believe her. Her voice sounded radically different from the wolf's, and, to Thomas at least, their arguments seemed genuine enough.

He was just glad there weren't any hard surfaces nearby that Mel could use to 'properly punish' Branky for his -- or what it her? -- teasing. No matter what else Mel claimed, he simply could not believe that repeatedly slamming the puppet's head into walls and rocks didn't hurt her arm…

"C'mon, kid, leggo!" Branky squealed, beady blue eyes squinting painfully as the giggling Shabon refused to relinquish her hold.

"Shabon, be nice to the puppet, now," the aquamarine-haired Nei chimed with her usual calm, placid tone.

Looking back at the elven maiden, Shabon nodded and released her grasp, standing on her tiptoes and stretching to pat the lupine puppet on the top of its head.

"Shabon is sorry, Branky," she said, giving both Mel and Branky a wide-eyed, innocent look.

"Don't worry about it, Shabon sweetie," replied Mel with a smirk. "Branky shouldn't be teasing such a cute young girl like you…"

"Right, I'll reserve it for the ugly ones, like…"

Branky's sentence remained unfinished as Mel unceremoniously drove her right fist into the ground, plowing the black-and-white wolf's face in the dirt. Nei hid her soft giggle behind a discretely raised hand, while Cecile laughed aloud. Thomas looked away uncomfortably, shuffling back and forth.

Surely, the experiences he'd had thus far with running Budehuc had to be unusual. If all castle masters turned out to deal with such matters on a daily basis…

The whistling of the wind rose into a shrill. Thomas gave a little squeak and jumped, cheeks almost immediately flushing pink from embarrassment.

(It's probably just the wind; I shouldn't be nervous; what could we run into out here on the plains, other than some armed rabbits and those flying fuzzy things…)

The girls' laughter had died down, and all five of his companions were gazing off to the east, six if you counted Branky. The moppet's blue eyes seemed to glitter with anticipation, the length of its pink tongue running over its shiny white teeth. Thomas even imagined he heard a faint growl coming from the lupine puppet -- though surely that was merely a product of his imagination, even if it was beginning to appear that earlier cry was not.

"Well, Mel," Branky chirped in an oddly conversational tone, "looks like things are finally getting interesting. Shall we?"

The blue-clad girl nodded sharply, short tan locks flouncing with the movement. Holding Branky out before her she advanced. With a practiced movement, Cecile loosened her grip on her spear, reached out, and briefly gripped Thomas's shoulder in what he assumed was supposed to be a reassuring manner.

"Don't worry, Master Thomas, leave it to me," she stated with complete confidence before choking up on the shaft of her weapon and striding forward to advance alongside the puppeteer.

Toppo and Nei shared a glance, then the juggler and maiden moved to follow closely behind the younger girls. With a not-quite discernable movement that Thomas failed to catch, Toppo brought out one of the small projectiles he used in combat, cradling it in the palm of his hand.

It was all Thomas could do to scurry after the rest of his group, barely keeping pace with Shabon while trying his hardest not to panic before even seeing whatever it was they were moving toward. It wasn't exactly flattering to him that a busker filly ten years his junior was acting more confident than the castle master. She didn't even have a real weapon to speak of!

…True, Shabon had more training with physical combat and defending herself barehanded than Thomas did with his dinky little blade. But, logistics aside, it looked rather odd for a teenaged boy to be slinking along behind a cute little girl, shooting worried glances left and right and feverishly hoping he'd only misheard the wind.

(I'm overreacting. I'm just overreacting… _Please_ let me be overreacting…)

"Shabon will protect Big Brother Thomas."

The trembling boy blinked and looked down into wide, innocent brown eyes. The busker child beamed up at him. He managed a weak smile and nod for her sake, and was rewarded with her face lighting with even more confidence and pride.

"Thank you, Shabon…"

(Oh, dear. I really hope I'm overreacting…)

~ * ~

The pain was crippling, though it had dulled a great deal as wounds began to scab over and seal themselves naturally. But he was used to having friends treat his injuries right away with their magic and medicine. Strange how this was the worst he'd ever been hurt, yet for once, there was nobody there to help alleviate his suffering.

But that was because of the intruders. Home had burned, the smoke and flames consuming the bodies of the dead and driving the living away. The scents of friends mixed together with those of foes, the stench of metal and ash intruding on the far more comforting scents of leather and earth.

The Karayans had fled northward, Fubar could tell that much. Tracking the familiar scents was taking time, however, in part because of his poor condition. Instinct had first driven him to take care of his most immediate problem. His efforts snapped the shaft off the arrow that had nearly taken his eye, yet the flint remained lodged above the left socket, and the eye was almost swollen shut.

The rest of the griffon was in a similarly sorry state. His feathers were coated with soot and ash, the white fluff covering his chest matted with dried blood. His wings were folded against his heaving flanks: Fubar had enough sense not to attempt flying. That would sap his strength reserves much quicker than plodding along the ground was.

Fubar kept his head lowered, uninjured eye swiveling about. The monsters roaming the plains were of little threat to the griffon, even in his weakened condition. However, the same could not be said of possible human adversaries. Were he to run into any of the nasty ironclad intruders now, his talons and beak alone wouldn't be defense enough against their blades.

If he could just make it to wherever the others had fled, however, then everything would be fine. They would provide food, healing and shelter, just as they had before…

~ * ~

"What… is _that?_"

Cecile's voice was an awed whisper, and it sounded as if the young garrison commander wasn't certain whether she should be more concerned or amazed by the sight before her. Her grasp on her long spear tightened, and she unconsciously ducked her head a bit more while trying to tear her gaze away from the creature to the puppeteer crouching at her side.

The band of six was clustered together behind some low rocks, and they all observed the beast in relative silence, wide-eyed. Thomas found himself hunkered down just behind Cecile, peering over her shoulder and Shabon's head, struggling to keep his breathing relatively level.

"Looks like a griffon to me," observed Mel, matching the female soldier's hushed tone. Her normally bright tan eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "At least, I think so… I've seen them on flags and sigils before, so…"

"Nothing comparing to the genuine article, eh?" Branky was a bit louder than Thomas would have preferred. The lupine puppet was grinning in a decidedly disturbing manner, and again its long tongue lashed out to caress its chops as it declared, "Wonder what roasted griffon tastes like…"

"It is odd, indeed," agreed Nei, the soft-spoken songstress failing to acknowledge Branky's comment. "I've never seen a wild griffon with such strange attire before…"

It took Thomas a few moments to comprehend what the elven maid was referring to. The talon-like forepaws of the beast were adorned with thick bracers, with black fabric wrapped underneath to keep the clunky bracelets from rubbing uncomfortably against its claws. There was no way a feral animal could attain such a pair of decorations, so that had to mean…

"…Is that somebody's _pet?_" His voice squeaked faintly from incredulity.

To his immediate right, Toppo inclined his head in a clandestine nod. Despite this apparent revelation, however, the juggler's body remained taut, palming his weapon expectantly. A similar determination glittered in Cecile and Mel's eyes, the former girl gripping her spear and shield while the latter kept her puppet positioned close to the front of her chest. Branky grinned with anticipation.

Thomas felt a small shudder run down the base of his spine at the sight of the moppet's feral smirk. If their suspicions were correct and this griffon actually belonged to somebody… Oh, the prospect was just ghastly! 

Mel and Cecile started to rise to their feet, and he knew with a sudden certainty that he couldn't allow this to happen -- it simply wasn't right to act without knowing more about the situation. Reaching out, he grasped both girls by their shoulders, though he didn't have the heart to apply much pressure.

"Wait!" he half-cried, half-whispered -- despite his suppositions, Thomas wasn't about to risk alerting the creature to their whereabouts just yet if he could help it.

Three pairs of eyes turned back to him. Cecile's bright blue ones and Mel's hazel ones widened with surprise, while Branky's icy ones narrowed in clear distaste. Though he didn't look over at the buskers, he could feel their gazes fixing upon him as well, just as curious as those before him. The bridge of his nose briefly flushed crimson, but he managed to fight down the awkwardness he felt.

"What?" snarled Branky, glaring at the boy.

"It's just… I don't think we should attack it. If that griffon turns out to really belong to someone, then…"

"Then what?" Branky hardly sounded nearly as concerned as Thomas felt. "So they shouldn't let their 'pet' run wild where it could hurt innocent travelers!"

"Actually, Shabon thinks the birdy looks more hurt than…"

"Oh, pipe down, pipsqueak."

"Shabon and Master Thomas are right," Cecile chimed in, automatically rising to the defense of her friends. "It's not some nasty monster, not really…"

Before she could continue the breeze shifted, the fresh gust sweeping from the north and catching their scent. Thomas was not a trained warrior, but he knew enough to recognize the concept of staying downwind.

The group froze, their gazes moving as one to where the griffon had abruptly gone rigid. The beast's head snapped upright, turning to face them. Thomas could see its right eye, the same brilliant hue of blue as the sky above, fix upon their huddled team. Its left eye was swollen shut; he hadn't been able to see that before.

A warning rumbled deep in the griffon's throat, its claws digging into the ground, toes splayed in a brace. The massive wings quivered at its sides, but failed to go completely taut. Thomas realized, with a flash of pity, that it was probable that the griffon couldn't fly with its injuries…

…Which made the situation all the more dangerous. Those who have no hope of escape fight all the harder against their enemy.

His dinky little sword hidden in its sheath, Thomas raised his hands in front of him and got unsteadily to his feet. The others followed suit, though Cecile still gripped her spear and shield, Toppo still fingered his projectile, and Mel kept Branky interposed between herself and the beast.

"Ooh, I don't like this," the blue-clad lass muttered. Shooting Thomas a sideways glance, she nearly choked on her own tongue when she saw what he was doing. "Hey, have you lost it?"

Thomas pretended not to hear her, heart pounding wildly against his ribcage as he stepped forward, squeezing between her and the garrison commander. Cecile fumbled with her spear before catching his shoulder, and he looked back into her face. The normally cheerful blue eyes were wide with concern, and perhaps just a hint of fear, though she disliked showing such negative emotions.

"Master Thomas, you…"

"Don't worry, Cecile. I have a good feeling…"

It wasn't really a lie, Thomas reasoned with himself, because he was really starting to feel that perhaps this confrontation didn't need to end with any sort of violence. Never mind the fact that his knees threatened to give out or start knocking against each other when he turned his attention back to the griffon.

Its single good eye was locked on him, and it continued to cry softly, holding its body taut, but it made no move to attack him. Thomas attempted what he hoped was a comforting smile, taking a hesitant step toward the griffon. When there was no reaction, he took a deep breath before advancing another step closer.

In truth, Fubar was extremely confused. These people carried such strange scents, but they didn't resemble his friends or the ironheads at all. The only one that came close was smaller and slighter than any enemy he'd seen, and something about the way she carried herself was different…

Now one of the strangers was approaching him. Fubar squalled and recoiled, feathers ruffling defensively, yet the boy kept slowly coming. Nervousness and worry radiated off his slight figure in waves, so palpable the griffon could almost taste them, yet there was no apparent threat in his stance.

"…Come on…" the boy coaxed, carefully extending his right hand palm-up toward the suspicious beast. "Don't be frightened… please… don't be afraid…"

"Thomas…" the girl in armor murmured, shifting her weight.

The shaft of her spear clanked against her armor, the sound ringing in Fubar's ears. The uninjured blue pupil dilated, flashes of vibrant memory engulfing his senses. The ironheads came, burned the homeland to ashes, murdered his friends with their flashing weapons of steel…

Screeching, Fubar snapped, catching a brief tang of fresh blood in his mouth as his beak raked briefly over flesh.

"Ahhh…!"

Thomas yanked backward immediately, a thin trail of red following his hand as he pulled it up against his chest, folding his other over it. His entourage jumped as one, Cecile's eyes widening at the sight of her lord's blood.

"Master Thomas--!" she squealed, spear jolting in her trembling grasp as she choked up on the shaft.

"I warned you…!" Branky howled. "Mel…!"

"Right!"

Mel nodded swiftly, raising her right hand high overhead and calling upon the rune concealed beneath the puppet. Shabon hopped up beside Cecile, tiny hands balled into fists, Toppo and Nei standing behind the younger girls. The juggler brought his hand back in preparation to strike, while Nei began the familiar chanting of one of her Jongleur Rune's spellsongs.

"Wa…wait!"

Thomas threw his uninjured left hand back toward them, fright evident in his clear brown eyes. The command held just enough sharpness to command attention, and his bodyguards froze, as once again all eyes were on the boy.

"Thomas…" Cecile started again.

"St…stand down, Cecile." He managed a pained smile, hiding a wince behind a wink. "It's okay, he's just scared… I don't blame him…"

"Hey! When did it suddenly become a 'him', huh?" demanded Branky irritably.

Keeping the same sad little smile, Thomas turned his attention back to the griffon. Fubar recoiled, blue eye staring, the edge of hysteria giving way to increased confusion.

Why weren't they attacked? Fubar could sense how much the humans wished to attack after seeing him snap at the boy. The armored girl's pointed metal stick quivered slightly in her grasp, the barbed tip catching the sunlight. The odd girl in blue with the black-and-white creature on her hand matched her companion's confused expression. The lupine beast itself, meanwhile, bared its teeth at him, looking the most eager out of the bunch to attack.

So why weren't they? In his condition, it would be easy to overwhelm him, and yet…

The only one that advanced was the boy. As the griffon watched intently, the lad stopped cradling his injured hand against his chest and slowly reached forward again. Fubar could see the gouge he'd ripped in the palm: a shallow gash, more a glancing blow than a serious rip. Were he more composed, not already so weakened by his prior injuries, there was little doubt he would have taken off at least one of his fingers.

Yet he refused to back down. He refused to attack the griffon and seal his fate.

Instead, Thomas reached out toward the griffon, bloodstained palm turned upright, a slight smile of welcome lighting up his pain-twisted face.

"If you want… we can help you. I have a castle where you'd be welcome for as long as it takes for you to heal and find your friends again… So, please…"

"Hang on! You think that monster understands…"

"Cram it, Branky!" hissed Mel, driving the puppet's face into the dirt.

Fubar keened lowly, wings flexing briefly as he stood regarding the strange boy and his followers. These people were… not Karayans… not enemies, either. Though one of them wore shiny clothing like the ironheads, she still looked different, somehow… Her eyes…

Fubar rarely got to see the eyes of the soldiers he fought. There had been the murderer who struck down Luce, but this youngster definitely didn't resemble him. There was a completely different quality around her.

As for the boy himself… His eyes… were clear like Lulu's, or Jimba's. They were the type of eyes Fubar felt he could trust.

"Kue…"

Fubar bent his head down, allowing the boy's hesitant fingers to gently trace over the tip of his beak, then stray up to between his eyes. The single blue sphere remained fixed on Thomas, silently conveying the conviction he was laying on those frail shoulders.

"Master Thomas…!" Cecile exhaled sharply, relief flooding over the garrison commander.

"It appears we will be heading back to Budehuc sooner than we expected," observed Nei.

"Sorry about this," Thomas apologized, looking back at his associates.

His expression was an interesting mixture of jubilance and contrition. Nei smiled reassuringly, aquamarine eyes twinkling with amusement, long cerulean braids flouncing behind her as she gently shook her head.

"There's no reason to apologize, Master Thomas. I simply didn't expect we'd be recruiting a griffon today…"

Thomas blinked. _Recruiting…?_ The thought hadn't crossed his mind, truth be told. All he saw was someone suffering, so naturally he had to offer what assistance he could…

"This is amazing!" All traces of Cecile's earlier trepidation had evaporated, and she had apparently reverted to her usual bouncy self as she stepped forward, spear no longer threatening. "Alright, boy, let's think of a good name for you…"

"…Kue?" The griffon tilted his head inquiringly to one side.

"Ho boy," Branky shook its head discouragingly, rolling its beady blue eyes. "Sebastian is going to love _this…_"


	15. Underground Shortcut

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings. On a side note, I recently caved and got a deviantart account; there's a link for those interested in my profile. Nothing much to see there yet, though, just some sketches of Suikoden III characters…

~ * Underground Shortcut * ~

"Haven't we been waiting long enough? Let's move, already!"

Sergeant Jordi tuned out the incessant complaining of the self-proclaimed noblewoman and continued to dig through his pack. Had it been anyone other than Lilly grumbling, he might have been inclined to apologize; he hadn't expected to be returning to the village so soon in the first place, and with recent events all thoughts of his current activity had been pushed out of mind. It hadn't been until after they'd rested overnight and were ensuring they had everything they needed that it had occurred to him that there was another detail he should attend to before they departed.

Lilly's foot tapped out an impatient tattoo against the wooden planks of the boardwalk. The redhead's arms were folded in front of her chest, and she glared furiously at the back of the sergeant's head as he continued to rifle through his belongings.

"I'm not paying you to waste my time," she hissed.

So far, to her at least, that seemed to be all that the duck was interested in. Hadn't he delayed them enough by insisting they use the room she'd rented for the previous night? Just because those whiners Reed and Samus hadn't been comfortable with immediately setting off for the Lizard Clan didn't mean she personally needed rest. Besides, the longer they hung around, the colder possible trails they could discover would become!

(Hmph. Perhaps all ducks are masters of wasting time. And if they take such pride in their warrior's heritage, then why couldn't I find a single blacksmith in this miserable bog?!)

…Not that she felt her rapier needed sharpening at the moment. The most trouble she'd run into on her quest up to this point came largely from the blundering of others rather than monsters. Yes, the 'dangers of the wild Grasslands' seemed vastly overrated to her thus far.

Lilly continued to fume about the incompetence of those around her, muttering and grumbling largely to herself. Everyone else had backed a short distance away from where she stood, dividing into their own little groups without even realizing it.

Samus shook his head at his mistress's mutterings, keeping a few choice thoughts of his own to himself. Standing beside him was a very unnerved Reed; the tall blonde cast worried glances at the furious girl and fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot.

For his part, though he still didn't see any reason to put too much confidence in their new 'guides' just yet, Samus did appreciate how the sergeant had convinced Lilly to let them recuperate. It remained to be seen, however, if the rest of their services would be worth the potch promised them.

He might have had more faith in their ability if it wasn't for the fact that two of them were mere children. The native girl, at least, had the appearance of a warrior, despite being in her teens. But the lad… Real blade or not, it didn't change the fact that the sword rested in the hands of an inexperienced boy. It was a vest he wore over his long-sleeved shirt, not armor! What place did such a child have in battle with real monsters?

(For that matter…) Samus wondered, glancing over to where the pair stood at the edge of the docks, (What place does a boy so clearly from a more cultured civilization have with a duck clan warrior and a teenaged huntress?)

Samus was not particularly well versed on the different cultures and tribes of the Grasslands, but he did have some basic knowledge of the lands. He was very much aware of the long-standing territory battle between the Zexens and the Six Clans. After all, the Tinto republic had their fair share of border clashes with the Zexens as well.

The fair-skinned child appeared to hail from one of the Zexen cities; his attire seemed more suited to one who lived on paved streets than the dirt paths of the farming villages. He appeared to be a lad who would one day make a fine knight -- someday, but certainly not now. In Samus' opinion, he was simply too young to carry a real sword in those small hands.

Melville appeared unaware of the scrutiny he was receiving. Both legs dangled over the edge of the walkway, and he gazed down at the tiny ripples formed by the tips of his boots brushing the water.

There was no denying he found the village absolutely amazing. The only parallel he could draw between the Duck Clan Village and Vinay del Zexay was how both were supported by water. But the way the ducks actually built their entire town _above_ the lake instead of around it…

The ducks were awfully friendly, too. Melville hadn't expected to be received as warmly as he had been, yet he didn't appear to be treated any differently than Aila or the trio from Tinto. The sergeant was clearly held in higher regard, but that was easy to understand. All in all, he'd been better treated here than he had by some people he knew back in the capital…

(…'Cept for Alanis and Elliot…) he mused, kicking his legs and watching the ripples spread from beneath slightly tousled bangs.

It was strange to be without the other Saint Loa Knights. Melville had no doubt that the pair would have loved it here; he could picture the three of them barreling across the wooden walkways. Alanis would be sticking her nose into every doorway, climbing up into the lofts so many of the huts possessed and rooting around through the piles of ropes, crates and knickknacks. He'd be close behind her, while Elliot stood at the bottom of the ladder and whined for a bit before finally joining them in their search for unusual Duck Clan artifacts to take home as souvenirs of their adventure…

He was not lonely. He had Aila and the sergeant, of course, and now Miss Lilly and her attendants would be coming along for as long as they saw fit. It was just… a shame that the captain was going on this journey without his fellow knights. The tales he'd bring back would probably pale in comparison to being able to witness them firsthand…

Recalling the sight of the Silver Maiden bathed in flames that failed to lend warmth to her frosted eyes, Melville wondered if, perhaps, it was really so terrible to be left with only secondhand accounts of some experiences.

Aila, meanwhile, was also gazing out at the lake, though she took little notice of the ripples spreading outward from where her companion's kicks stirred the surface. A light breeze stirred her brunette curls, tugging lightly at her newly repaired leathers. The runes she carried glowed faintly just underneath the surface of her bronzed skin; the Shield Rune shining white-gold on the back of her left hand; the Earth Rune yellow-gold on her right.

Both runes carried great protective magic, yet ever since their arrival in the village Aila had been mulling over the thought of replacing one. It wasn't so much that she felt they were too weak, but -- what good was the defense they offered if it couldn't keep those she cared for…

She tossed her head suddenly and grunted under her breath, blinking rapidly to defuse the moistness she felt building in the corners of her eyes. Tears were useless; besides, she didn't want these strangers they were traveling with to see her acting so weak.

At any rate, the point was moot for the time being. Aila knew what sorts of magic she held the most potential in. Unfortunately, the local rune shop didn't stock the required rune she would need to go ahead with her idea of replacing one. The keeper mostly stocked Wind and Water runes, with a few Earth and some that proffered the secret of elite attacks to their bearer.

Plus Aila wasn't entirely certain she was willing to replace her Earth or Shield rune with a Fire one. It would give her enough destructive power that she'd be more capable of defending the others with magic, true enough, but…

Finally finding what he searched for, Sergeant Jordi pulled a tightly wrapped parcel out of his pack. Aila glanced over curiously, catching a glimpse of something multifaceted and rainbow-colored beneath a slipping fold before it passed from the sergeant's hand to Wilder's. Jordi whispered something to the other mallard, low enough that none of his curious companions could quite catch the words. Wilder nodded, spectacles slipping down his beak slightly, and tucked the parcel safely away in a pocket.

"Are you done?" inquired Lilly curtly. Jordi spared her a dry sideways look and nodded, and the redhead nodded more to herself than anyone else, violet eyes brightening as she turned to the others and declared, "All right then, let's be off!"

She strode ahead, head held high, the crimson feather crowning her hat waving back and forth like a banner as Lilly eagerly headed out of the village. Sergeant Jordi shook his head before following, with Reed and Samus close on his heels. Aila and Melville brought up the rear of the group, finally leaving the duck clan homeland behind just as Lilly had been demanding they do since their first meeting.

~ * ~

"…This is what we rushed out of the village for?"

Lilly's head popped up from behind the outcropping of rock crowning the grassy mound and she glared daggers down at the smart-ass duck standing at the foot of the hill.

"Shut up," she commanded. "I don't see you up here helping, you know."

"You're the one who insisted we come this way," shrugged Jordi, "…and insisted that we try using this tunnel. I certainly don't know where the key to the entrance is; I've never been invited by the Lizard Clan to use this passage. Have you?"

"…Shut _up_," Lilly repeated with a touch more rancor than before.

She ducked back down into her previous crouch and began running her fingers over the rocks and boulders in front of her. If she'd had to look at the sergeant's smirking visage another second, she'd…

Lilly sighed with disgust. Why did the Lizard Clan have to hide the entrances to their underground roads so effectively? …Well, it wasn't the _entrance_ that was so expertly concealed, per se; the huge granite slab lodged in the front of this hill was pretty obvious. But the trigger that was supposed to move that accused rock so that they could pass, that was another story entirely.

(More to the point, why couldn't my sources just tell me where the stupid switch was?) she wondered furiously. (What a supreme lack of foresight on their part. They told me the location, but what good is it with no way in?!)

"Milady…" Reed began, but the blonde cut himself off when she shot an over-the-shoulder glare at him.

"Have you found it yet?"

"…No, milady, but…"

"Then quit wasting time and keep looking!" she commanded, and turned with a huff back to glare imperiously at the stubborn stones before her.

Reed whimpered, but went back to running his fingers through the grassy slope in the vain hope of finding some hidden trigger within. He fervently hoped there weren't any living surprises waiting in the green overgrowth. Though he wore thick leather gloves, the thought of some nasty, poisonous spider or other creepy crawlies just waiting to be disturbed by his prodding so they could bite down hard on his fingers was far from a pleasant concept.

Beside him, Samus was engrossed in the same task, but shook his head repeatedly as he worked. It was clear the activity bothered him as well, though he was more rankled at the sheer absurdity of their chore than by imagined nasties hiding within the grass.

"…Reed, what do you think of our new companions?"

"Hmm?" Reed blinked, giving his partner a bewildered look before answering hesitantly; "They seem… nice, I suppose. The sergeant was certainly thoughtful enough to talk Miss Lilly into letting us stay the night…"

"Yes, but the price is a bit high…" Samus grimaced, recalling his lady's promise to the strange trio. "Four thousand potch, just for accompanying us to where the Lizard Clan lives?"

"And introducing us to the natives," Reed reminded him. Watching the grass carefully while continuing to poke and prod, he murmured, "If it saves us a misunderstanding with these lizards…"

"But our finances are strained enough as it is. Taking the price of medicine and other necessities into account…"

"What _are_ you two whispering about?!" Lilly demanded, glaring over at the pair.

Both men instantly fell silent and began rummaging through the grass with renewed -- and somewhat exaggerated -- vigor. Lilly scowled prettily, violet eyes narrowing at their averted backs before turning its blazing fury upon the rock shelf before her.

How dare they waste time chattering when there was a mystery to solve -- a Fire Hero waiting to be found? Not to mention a loathsome duck waiting below with some snide comments he was no doubt eager to make concerning their lack of progress finding the wretched pathway…

With an aggravated screech, Lilly punched her fist down square upon one of the smaller rocks, a tiny piece of granite wedged between several larger stones. She was not prepared for it to shift underneath her knuckles, and she blinked rapidly as it slid downward, accompanied by a loud grating noise and a rumble that shook the hillside.

(…Ah! Of course…)

"There!" she announced proudly, springing to her feet and climbing atop the shelf of rocks so that she once more overlooked the field beneath. With a satisfied smirk she looked pointedly at the sergeant and his friends, declaring, "As I told you, here is our route to the Lizard Clan!"

She hopped from her perch -- completely ignoring Reed's startled cry at this 'dangerous' move -- and landed in front of the now-opened doorway. Straightening, she ran one hand through her auburn locks and favored Sergeant Jordi with a triumphant smirk.

But Jordi barely acknowledged her achievement, flicking a sideways glance at her while moving toward the new opening. Aila reached it before him, and he stood back with Melville and watched as the Karayan crouched, pressing one hand against the inside of the curved boulders framing the doorway.

"Well?" he prompted softly.

"…It does lead toward the Great Hollow," the huntress announced at length, leaf green eyes reopening into slivers. "It curves downward for some time before reaching a gentle upward slope close to our destination. The crafters were careful to follow the natural slope of the land."

"What are you talking about?" Lilly demanded imperiously. Her hands lay firmly on her hips and she glared suspiciously at the Grasslanders, right eyebrow raised in a curious arch.

"Just confirming with our sources that what yours told you is correct," replied Jordi dryly. Without bothering to glance back to the redhead's mystified expression, he explained, "Aila has a knack for sensing these sort of things. If she says it will take us to the Hollow, then we'll find the Lizard Clan soon enough."

"…Ah." Though Lilly nodded as if she understood, the sergeant somehow doubted she fully comprehended what he'd meant. Striding past him to stand in the open gateway, she turned back toward them and commanded, "Well, let's be on our way, then. Aila, you'll take the lead with me…"

"Hmm?" Aila gave the redhead a sharp look; was that supposed to be a request or a command? Guessing the latter, she frowned and asked, "Why should I?"

Lilly's violet eyes flashed, her raised eyebrow arching a fraction higher. Turning to face the huntress solely, she rested her right hand against her hip and raised her chin slightly.

"If you've really got a sense for these sort of things, it'd be better to keep you close to the front, correct? There's probably monsters waiting inside, and you've probably got a better chance of spotting them before the rest of us…" her voice took on a mocking quality as she added, "…or am I misjudging your skills, Karayan warrior?"

That sealed it, as Lilly figured it would. Aila's verdant eyes flared, her body stiffening slightly. A smug smirk quirked Lilly's lips; perhaps the younger girl was having difficulty separating the veiled compliment from the implied insult.

(Good, just so long as she's determined to prove how capable she really is on the way. Between the two of us, any monsters we may run across won't stand a chance…)

"Samus, I want you to stay alongside the sergeant, and Reed, you're with Melville. Remember," she didn't allow any of the males to give voice to their protests, "that the sergeant does have that Water Rune, and I figure he's far more skilled with it than you are with that Wind Rune, Samus. If he needs to use it, I'd rather have you covering him than that child."

(Not to mention that I'd rather let you deal with that sarcastic duck than have to listen to his snippy comments all the way through the tunnel.)

"Now, then, let's get moving." Turning back toward the entrance, Lilly cast a quick glance to the huntress and prompted, "Aila, are you joining me?"

"………"

Aila glared back, but she shouldered her bow and followed the smirking noblewoman into the opening. Sergeant Jordi and Samus looked at each other, something unspoken passing between them, before both sighed and followed, leaving Reed and Melville to tag along behind.

~ * ~

The tunnel was populated with monsters, though it certainly wasn't swarming with nasties as Reed had secretly feared. What they did run into was creepy enough despite their few numbers. Translucent slugs oozed over the blue-gray stones that paved the tunnel, dissolving into pitiful heaps of slime with a few sword strikes or a couple of well-timed arrows.

Worse yet, in Reed's opinion at least, were the sentient suits of armor that they stumbled across once or twice. There was something distinctly unnerving about staring at the empty space under the suspended helmet or between exposed joints and wondering where the armor gained the strength to wield its blade.

Yet if Lilly was also unnerved by this, she concealed it well. Facing one such opponent, she thrust her rapier though the empty space where its neck should be and ignited the blade, the rune embedded in her right hand glowing brightly as she called upon the Sword of Rage. The armor crumpled, and Lilly grunted something disparaging under her breath as she wrenched her weapon free from the pitiful pile.

Privately, Jordi was slightly impressed with the self-proclaimed Tinto noblewoman. Somehow, he hadn't quite expected her to take to the front lines so quickly. While he'd noticed the rapier she carried before, he'd figured she would stand back and allow her bodyguards to deal with whatever threatened them. The swords they carried appeared to be fashioned to match her rapier, the same way their attire seemed to be less flashy and more practical echoes of her own style. However, the blades the men carried were also a bit wider and heftier, slightly more suited for combat.

(Not that these things are all that dangerous,) he reminded himself, a sweep of his halberd causing an empty helmet to fly off and clatter against the tunnel wall. (This errand's been simple enough so far…)

An arrow took the last of the sentient armors down, and the six paused only long enough to treat their wounds by splitting a couple of medicine vials between them before Lilly once again set off with Aila and the rest in tow. As the Karayan archer had predicted, the gradual downward slope of the tunnel soon panned off as the walls widened out into a circular chamber.

The traces of ancient stonemasonry were far more apparent here, stretching beyond the tiled cobblestone floor. In the dim lighting, Jordi could make out the fact that they were laid into intricate designs, though any symbolism they might have held was lost on the mallard. Rubble and broken boulders helped to obscure some of the floor, apparently leftover from some near cave-in. Jordi sincerely hoped this wasn't an indication that this tunnel was more dangerous than it seemed. It didn't appear to have gone through a period of long disuse, however…

…In fact, they were not the only ones present in the chamber at the moment.

Fortunately, the Tinto trio didn't protest as he feared when he ducked behind some of the boulders in the middle of the room and motioned for them to follow suit. Melville crouched close on the sergeant's left, staring with wide tan eyes at the strangers, while Aila positioned herself on the duck's right. The redhead's attendants stayed close to her side even as Lilly edged forward for a better look, joining the Grasslanders in watching their unexpected companions.

There were four of the strangers, three males and a female. Their backs were turned toward the travelers, and they conversed quietly among themselves, apparently unaware that they were no longer the only ones present. Jordi took advantage of this to study them carefully, attempting to gauge what sort of a threat they might pose.

One of the men had dark red hair, of much deeper hue than Lilly's auburn locks. Its coloring reminded Jordi almost of crimson lifeblood, and the short, expertly styled swirls of scarlet hair were carefully arranged so that not one strand appeared out of place. The rich folds of the expensive-looking gray and white jacket he wore covered the rest of his straight figure, his hands covered with thick gloves of black leather. There was a definite cultured air about him, more so than Lilly's allegedly regal bearing, yet it bore another quality that gave the sergeant mental chills.

The bad feeling that the crimson-haired man gave off paled in comparison to the man in black beside him. All Jordi could make out was the dark-suited stranger's indifferent posture and the long blonde braid that stretched down his back before he hurriedly switched to studying his companions. Darkness hung over this man like a shroud, and he didn't wish to know exactly why.

The last of the men was the shortest in stature, yet Jordi got the impression he was the leader of his small group. His forest green, tan and black finery seemed unremarkable, save for the mask of gilded gold that covered his face. The sharply forged features gave the impression of a hawk, or perhaps an eagle or some other noble bird of prey. 

As for the female, she could have been a statue born from marble and ice with her pale, delicate features and sweeping blue gown. She had the appearance of a sorceress, and Jordi's breath caught in his throat as she turned her head slightly, pale eyes seeming to lock directly with his for a heartbeat.

If she truly did see the sergeant and those hiding with him, she gave no sign of it, however, and soon turned back to face her companions again.

Letting out a nearly silent sigh, Jordi kept his gaze riveted on the four strangers even as he risked quietly asking, "What do you make of them, Aila?"

"They definitely don't look like allies," muttered the archer, fingering the haft of her bow while glaring at them distrustfully. (They can't be from any of the clans, but they don't look like ironheads, either… and that one with the braid…)

"Well, it's obvious they're enemies," Lilly declared haughtily, just barely keeping her voice low enough to keep Jordi from clapping a hand over her mouth. However, he still shot her a 'quiet down' look that went ignored as she continued, "Just look at the way they're skulking around over there. Whatever could they be looking for in this place?"

"…A way into the Great Hollow, perhaps," suggested Jordi, restraining himself from adding, (Just like yourselves…)

"They don't look like soldiers, though," Melville observed quietly. "No armor… or weapons, except for that girl with the staff…"

"Magic-users, possibly," Samus murmured. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he muttered, "It's a wonder they haven't noticed us yet…"

"What shall we do?" Reed asked, face tight with worry. "We can't hide here forever…"

"Isn't it obvious? We charge in and surprise them with a frontal assault," declared Lilly. Nodding in agreement with her own words, she turned to face her companions and straightened, just barely keeping hidden behind the boulder. "Then we can get some answers from them about what they're doing here!"

"That doesn't seem like such a good idea," commented Jordi lowly, shaking his head. "We don't know anything about their capabilities…"

"And they know nothing of ours," shot back Lilly with a determined scowl. "So let's teach them and see what we learn."

(And if this goes awry, what will you take away from the lesson?) Jordi mused bitterly, though he did not give voice to his thoughts.

"I think… you're right, Lilly," Aila reluctantly agreed, fingering her bow thoughtfully as she looked at the rest of her group. (They may not be ironheads, but the feelings I get from them… they can't possibly be any better than those bastards…)

"I'm glad you understand, Aila," Lilly beamed at the huntress's approval. The bright smile that briefly lit her face was replaced by a determined smirk as her violet eyes swept to regard the others. "Now, let's kill'em all!"

Peering at her determined expression, Jordi almost envied her confidence. He noted with something akin to amusement that only Aila appeared similarly interested in this course of action. Even Melville looked to be taking this far more seriously, a thoughtful frown clouding his youthful face as he gripped the hilt of his blade. The lass's bodyguards looked more concerned than anything.

Standing up, completely abandoning any pretense of hiding behind the rocks, Lilly tossed her head disdainfully, copper hair rippling behind her as she drew her rapier. Aila stood beside her, an arrow already drawn, and she brought her sights level with the back of the man in black's head. He was the one that the spirits screamed loudest around, so he was the one she aimed her first shot at.

The missile flew truly, slicing through the musty air with a nearly silent whistle. It seemed destined to bury itself in the back of the stranger's neck.

It probably would have, too, if he hadn't pivoted around suddenly and lashed out with his right hand in a movement too rapid to follow.

Jordi swallowed his gasp, and it seemed to lodge in his dry throat as he watched the two pieces of the bisected arrow drop and clatter against the stone floor. Now the man in black was armed, in the form of two thin blades that seemed to materialize from thin air -- or was it that they shot out of the long sleeves of his jacket?

The blonde's face was partly obscured by the brim of the black hat he wore, yet the thin smirk his lips twisted into was clearly visible.

"Sarah… you didn't mention we had guests," he purred.

The pale blonde woman showed little reaction to his statement, though Jordi almost thought he saw a flicker of some unreadable emotion in her ice blue eyes as she and the other two men turned away from the sealed doorway they stood before. There was no reading the masked man's expression, of course, though he fared little better with the inscrutable set of the crimson-haired gentleman's face.

The cool green eyes of the silver-coated man coasted over the strange group of six. Though he uttered no sound, the sergeant imagined he could almost hear what he was thinking: _A soldier of the duck clan, a Karayan warrior-maiden, a Zexen lad, a red-haired woman and a couple of men in swashbuckler's garb…an odd gathering. What business do they have here…?_

"Who are you people, and what are you doing here?" Lilly was not about to let such a minor setback derail her plans. Though her heart nearly skipped a beat when the man in black sliced Aila's arrow from the air, she stepped forward boldly and brandished her rapier, demanding, "What are you four up to? Will one of you answer me…?!"

"…Waste of time. There's nothing of interest here for us now," the masked man murmured, turning away.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Aila leveled her bow at his averted back. "What have you been doing here?"

"Sarah, we're leaving," was the closest thing to a reply she received.

"Yes…" the pale blonde nodded.

"You three go on ahead." The black-suited man tossed his head back so that his long blonde braid whipped about behind him. "I'll clean up things here before following."

"Don't overdo it," the gentleman in the silver coat instructed, walking over to stand beside his other two comrades.

"Now wait just a minute…" Lilly began, infuriated at the complete disregard these strangers were showing them.

The girl called Sarah made a sudden gesture with her cane, and the blue crystal that rested upon the delicately crafted pole of ebony and silver glowed brightly. The six travelers gaped in astonishment as the girl's robes billowed as if caught in a sudden wind, and the ground beneath her feet rippled outward in smooth waves. Suddenly, it looked as if she and her two companions were standing upon liquid instead of stone, and as they stared, transfixed, the three sank into the glowing ripples and vanished.

The light swiftly faded, leaving them facing the stranger in black alone.

"…F…fine!" Lilly reestablished her grip on her rapier, frustrated with how she'd nearly let it slip from her fingers as she watched the others escape. "I'll just force the answers from you, then!"

"Will you, now…?" the man in black murmured, the same damnable smirk playing at his lips. The twin blades he carried glittered in the dim light as he crossed them before him, stating, "Let us see…"

The others may have fled, indeed, yet Jordi's sense of discomfort only increased as he hefted his halberd and moved to stand before Melville. The boy had brought up his blade as well, but the sergeant felt more comfortable standing before him. Similarly, Samus moved to stand with and slightly in front of Reed; Lilly's prior instructions went completely unheeded in light of the current circumstances.

The man's hidden gaze swept over his unlikely opponents, and his smirk widened the merest fraction.

Then he vanished.

For an instant, Jordi thought he had retreated in the same manner his comrades had, only his body had melted into the shadows instead of sinking into rippling stone. It was clear Lilly thought much the same, for he saw her scowl deepen, and her mouth opened slightly, likely preparing to throw some angry jibe at the empty space.

Then Melville's scream froze the sergeant's blood.

Whirling, the mallard spat a vile mental curse, even as his eyes widened a fraction at the sight of the black-clad bastard behind him. The boy had already crumpled to the floor, a gash of crimson welling from beneath the ripped back of his pants leg, but his attacker was not standing idle, and was already springing toward his next target.

"Mila--" was all Reed managed to shriek before it rose into a ragged wail of pain.

The point of the blade in the stranger's right hand now jutted from his side, and the blonde attendant's cry descended into a horrified moan as his assailant twisted the blade in the wound.

"_Reed--!_"

Samus turned his partner's name into a battle yell as he lunged at the man in black, only to be met by the sweeping upward arc of his left-hand blade. The dark-skinned man fell heavily to one side, gasping, and the man gave him a sharp kick in the side for good measure before wrenching its mate free from its human sheath. Reed's face had not even quite met the floor before suddenly Jordi found himself face-to-face with their single opponent.

The sergeant couldn't help but jerk from the shock, pupils dilating as he got a brief glimpse of their attacker's face. It was only for an instant, yet one detail seared itself into memory…

(His eyes don't match…)

…And then he was clutching his bleeding stomach and slumping to the floor, left with the barest memory of the pain of having a blade shoved into his belly and extracted nearly as quickly.

"Holy…" Lilly breathed, seeing four of her so-called bodyguards dispatched so quickly.

"Sergeant!" shrieked Aila, swinging around and loosing another arrow at her opponent's head.

"You _bastard!_" Lilly shrilled in almost the same breath, rapier flashing in front of her as she lunged.

With a surreal fluidity of motion, the dark man turned and dodged the missile, then caught Lilly by the wrists. His fingers dug deep, and it seemed to her more like they were claws that pierced through her gloves and forced her rapier to drop from her grasp. Then she slammed into the ground where she was thrown, all the breath driven from her lungs by the impact.

Aila gasped and reached for another arrow, only for her bow to be knocked from her hands in the next instant. It clattered to the ground loudly. The man in black smirked and lifted her further off the ground, left hand tightening slightly around her neck.

He didn't apply enough pressure to make it cave. That wasn't the sort of death he wished to afford this upstart.

"So… a Karayan survivor…" he whispered, studying the girl's tanned face as it twisted with pain. "Did you make it out of the flames, child, or had you strayed from home?"

Aila couldn't answer with his hand still wrapped round her neck. She wanted to scream, wanted to demand how he knew, but it was all she could do to pull air into her burning lungs.

The man gave a little shrug of his shoulders, dismissing his own question as unimportant. His horrible smirk widened as he slowly raised his other hand. The long blade gleamed brightly, as if in anticipation, as he rested the point lightly against her chin.

There was a slight movement off to one side, and he paused, turning his head slightly to see the cause. Lilly was lying flat on her stomach behind him, face twisted with agony, reaching out with one trembling hand. Whether she was reaching toward his leg or his rapier could not be judged, for the latter lay close to the former.

She hissed with pain when his foot came down to rest upon her twitching knuckles, and she glared up toward his smirking face with rage smoldering clearly in her violet eyes. This only caused his smirk to widen, and the blade in his right hand quivered expectantly as he debated which girl would be the first to feel its sharp caress.

"…Leave it."

The whisper was soft, hushed, barely audible, yet it was enough to stay the blade in his hand. The man in black stiffened, but did not look back at the slender figure that rose into being from behind.

"…He wishes for you to come at once. There is no need…"

"…Hmph."

Releasing his hold on Aila reluctantly, he sheathed his sword without moving his arm. He stood idly watching the girls crumpled at his feet as they gasped for breath and glared weakly up at him, even as his pale companion waved her crystal-tipped staff and the ground rippled once more.

The woman called Sarah melted back into the floor, and, for a moment, it seemed he would not follow. From underneath the brim of his hat, mismatched eyes drank in the suffering of those sprawled before him greedily, longing to create more.

Then, he smirked, and in the next moment was gone.

The light faded as the ripples did, leaving the six companions alone in the massive underground chamber, the only sound that of their ragged breaths echoing off the curved walls. Not surprisingly, it was Lilly who first found the strength to speak, and her words trailed off into a bitter hiss as she felt her injuries.

"…Well, that didn't go very well, did it…?"


	16. Continuing the Cycle

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Continuing the Cycle * ~

The Great Hollow, primary homeland of the Lizard Clan, did not have the best of reputations when it came to accommodating guests.

This was not the fault of the tribesmen per se: despite their reptilian countenances and renowned ferocity on the field of battle, they tended as a whole to be quite pleasant toward anyone who treated them fairly. In this they were no different than their allies and comrades who hailed from other clans.

The problem rested more in the fact that the massive network of caves and tunnels, while spacious enough to admit all, did not possess all the amenities and luxuries those from other cultures were accustomed to.

The lizards were quite fond of the dampness of the caverns, and while there were braziers and torches mounted in many a natural crevice and carefully forged notches, they found no real issue with the dark. In the many sections where travelers and visitors did not often venture, the lighting was kept much dimmer, far more comfortable for those who, after all, lived in the Great Hollow.

It seemed more than a minor inconvenience now that they had more than a few visitors to deal with. Now the Lizard Clan was sharing space with a broken tribe's worth of Karayan refugees.

(And to think,) Dupa mused bitterly while pacing the length of his spacious private quarters, (only a few days ago the biggest problem I had was that damned knight refusing to let me give the location of the peace meeting to his commander.)

Reaching the simply fashioned chair that had been shaped from a single slab of rock, Dupa fell back into the contoured seat. The hard stone failed to irritate his leathery skin the same manner it would grate against a human's flesh. His tail settled comfortably, looping over the back of the bench and lying against the cooler rock of the floor.

In truth, Dupa would have gladly traded anything in his possession for the chance to return matters to how they had been before the accursed 'treatise signing'… before the Zexen ironheads proved once more how treachery and deceit sang in their veins.

After relaying the message to the knights of Brass Castle that the meeting was to be held in three days' time, Dupa had returned to the Great Hollow to oversee the remainder of their own preparations. Esteemed Chief Zepon, for all his wisdom and strength of heart, was getting on in years and was no longer as invincible a warrior as in his prime. The finest of their Three Bodies fighters were to accompany him merely to ensure the ironheads did not falsely presume his age as a sign of weakness.

His untimely death had rendered their intentions moot.

Dupa's golden yellow eyes clouded, slit pupils losing their focus as he recalled the terrible moment when he burst into his chieftain's chambers only to find the esteemed elder dead.

Though the identity of the Zexen assassin currently eluded them -- much in the same manner the damnable ironhead had somehow managed to slip past their guards using the distraction provided by his fellows -- Dupa knew one fact for certain: the bastard was a butcher.

The chamber had been pitch-black, the only light penetrating the room issuing from the corridor beyond when he first flung the panels of stone aside. So it had, at first, appeared to his eyes that the slick substance oozing slowly along the floor were part of the shadows they originated from, impossibly melted darkness pooling against the granite in the same manner its kin shrouded the curved walls and ceiling.

Then came the confusion and growing sense of unease as he stepped into the darkness, calling his leader's name only once and hearing it fade against the hidden confines. The rapid adjustment of his eyes to the dim lighting, and agonizingly fast comprehension of what sat slumped in the rocky throne before him, liquid darkness dripping from the array of lacerations that seemed to multiply and deepen even as he stood staring at the corpse of Zepon.

Murdered… cut down upon his own dais, then propped up in his throne and left to be discovered by his stunned brethren.

There was no time for grief. Not with the already scheduled peace conference that needed to be attended.

Dupa gave a small snort, tail brushing against the back of his seat as he shifted his weight. (Peace? With the ironheads?)

The Zexens were cruel, duplicitous fools, breaking the treaty they themselves suggested before the terms were even agreed upon! They had not even been subtle about their treachery, sending their vaunted 'Silver Maiden' to serve as the distraction for their guards.

Though Dupa had not seen her himself, the report of her involvement had been given to him by Shiba, one of his most trusted warriors. There was no mistaking the description: skin paler than newly fallen snow, eyes frigid as icicles, hair shining like the intricately forged steel plates that shielded her proud figure.

Who else matched that description but the woman he'd spoken to at Brass Castle, the same one that he would meet again at the treatise signing on the plains?

Chris Lightfellow… daughter of a legendary knight. Heir to a legacy that flowed through her veins as deeply as the ice that was also rumored to reside within. The newly appointed captain of the most highly regarded squadron of ironhead knights, following the tragic death of her predecessor on the battlefield.

She had come to her title through the violent loss of the previous captain, much in the same manner that Dupa now served as Chief of the Lizard Clan following Zepon's assassination.

Dupa cared little for dwelling on such musings, however. Far more pressing issues were at hand.

There was the matter of handling the influx of Karayan refugees, for example. It wasn't a matter of not having enough space -- there was plenty of room in the sprawling cavern complex to house the humans along with the native lizards -- but of stark differences between the cultures of the two clans.

The Karayans were used to living under the warm sun, to hunting in the vast grasslands and huts with perpetually open windows so that the night breeze caressed them while they slept. The closest thing the Lizards possessed to a free hunting range was the hills nestled a short distance away from the cavern's primary entrance.

There was also the grief to deal with -- the grief of losing a home, mourning for friends and loved ones who were unfortunate enough to be overwhelmed by the ironheads' treacherous assault. Anguish that was tempered by anger, the smoldering need for vengeance, to shed blood for blood.

Not all the Karayans had fled to the Great Hollow. Some had fled toward Ahiru Bokko, the original name for the settlement known more commonly as the Duck Clan Village. The majority of those who ended up taking sanctuary from the Lizards were warriors who'd escaped alongside them from the Amur Plains.

There was still uncertainty over who had survived and who was lost, though hope of locating more of the former faded with each passing day without word from those missing. It would take time to gather everyone, for those who escaped to exchange tales and slowly piece together the clearest possible picture of the tragedy. They needed time to pull together, to recover…

But again, it seemed the ironheads were uninterested in affording them any time.

Dupa's eyes glittered hatefully in the dim lighting. If the ironheads offered no mercy, then neither would he. As Chief of the Lizard Clan, he held a sacred duty to ensure those who came under his protection would suffer no longer. That included the Karayans and the other clans, but certainly did not extend to the damnable ironheads.

Footsteps pounded from outside, the rising noise culminating with a thud and shout from just outside his chambers. Dupa was already on his feet when the stone slab covering the entrance was pushed violently aside, and his slit pupils adjusted quickly to the flood of light from the corridor.

"Chief Dupa!" shouted the lizard warrior standing there. The light lent his orange skin a golden outline, further highlighting the furious panic in his eyes. "The ironheads are attacking!"

"Again?!" Dupa snarled.

"Yes, and there are reports that the Silver Maiden leads them…"

Dupa snarled, a wordless growl of disgust, and snatched his polearm from where it lay against the wall. The tri-pronged blade glittered upon its sable perch; the ebony shaft it rested on was as long as the lizard was tall, yet he handled the gride with familiar ease.

"Thinking to finish what you started, wench?" he hissed, bounding toward the door and the battlefield beyond the cave. "You'll regret returning here, I swear it!"

~ * ~

Many fantastic tales of the Silver Maiden's prowess in battle circulated throughout Zexen territory and beyond. Gossip of astounding feats she was reputed to have performed floated through the streets of the capital, and rumors flowed through taverns as freely as wine and other spirits. It was said a single thrust of her sword could fell seven enemies, a sideways glance from her lavender eyes froze even the bravest foe in his tracks. There were even those that whispered she bore a rune in her left hand that rendered her nigh-on invincible, though even the wildest of those claims never went so far as to proclaim it a True Rune.

Chris found all these fictions quite annoying.

It was physically impossible to kill seven people with one sword-swipe, even with blades wider and larger than hers. Her gaze held no power whatsoever (though her countless male admirers would beg to differ). As for the Phoenix Rune she carried, it merely enabled her to deliver a more concentrated blow -- and she often fought a brief pang of disorientation immediately after using it.

Its greatest worth lay in the fact that it was a memento from her father. So she had been told when she was accepted as a squire and received the rune from her mansion's staff. Sir Wyatt had carried it for most of his life, but left it behind prior to his disappearance with instructions to have it handed down to his daughter should she choose to follow in his footsteps in the knighthood…

But, other than sentimentality, it held little real value. It was simply a rune, with no amazing secret power, in the same manner that her armor and blade, for all their adornments, were not too different than the sets carried by other soldiers.

The only thing setting them apart was who carried them, along with all the other legends and responsibilities heaped upon her shoulders.

Anyone seeing her at that moment, guiding her snow-white steed through the chaos with an expert hand while her blade flashed out with deadly grace, could understand why so many rumors and tall tales whispered of her skill.

Her steed put her on more even ground against the naturally taller lizardmen, setting the arcs of her sword nearly level with the reptile's thick chests and necks. She was more fortunate than most Zexen soldiers; the council saw no need to supply mere footmen with rides of their own. Grunts were more plentiful than horses in the cities.

The unfairness scarcely registered with Chris, preoccupied with continuing the slaughter of all those foolish enough to dare approach the Silver Maiden. Her blade lashed out to find its mark unerringly, instinct guiding its edge, while she found refuge from her traitorous thoughts in combat.

Her meeting with the Council following the failed treaty had been brief, the instructions she received succinct. Since the Lizard Clan had been the ones to break their word and turn the peace conference into an ambush, they were to respond to steel with steel and launch a counterattack on the Great Hollow.

Clearly, the Grasslanders did not wish for a cease-fire, so they would receive no quarter.

Furthermore, Chris had been informed, the treaty had been little more than an attempt to buy time for Zexen to recover from their losses. Though the state had refused to give their fallen knights a proper funeral, citing that doing so would only dishearten the people and remind them of their weakness, now that more of their men lay wounded and dying in Brass Castle, it was considered okay to acknowledge that -- and strike in the name of revenge.

The guild's cavalier attitude infuriated Chris. Good men lay dead because of the Grasslanders' treacherous act… lives lost on both sides. And because of their assault, the knights had been forced to commit a deed that, in any other circumstances, would have been considered out of the question.

Yet the council had lauded her… praised her for having Karaya Village burned. They called it a brilliant strategy, applauding her foresight in preventing further Zexen casualties.

After all, they were only barbarians… that was all that mattered. Who cared if they were children and elders, hunters and gatherers who were not as trained in the arts of fighting and self-defense? They were not civilians, hardly innocent, for they belonged to an inferior culture…

All the self-important stories she had been force-fed in her years as a trainee stuck hard in her throat, more difficult to swallow than before. Chris had been raised on tales of how worthless and ruthless the barbarian tribes were, stories that clashed with the more even-handed accounts she remembered her father regaling her with.

(Zexens and Grasslanders, ironheads and barbarians, humans and elves and dwarves and kobolds and lizards and ducks… these are all just names we give each other so we don't have to try and understand, Chris,) Wyatt's words returned to her, still fresh in her memory despite the many years that had passed since his departure. (It's easier to slay someone when you can't imagine things through their eyes.)

Then he had disappeared, going Sadie knew where… though if what she'd discovered in the village was any indication, he'd been slain by some Karayan…

Her blade split apart orange scales to reveal raw crimson muscle beneath, and another reptilian fighter fell back clutching uselessly at his exposed throat. Her white steed whickered and raised its front hooves off the ground when the hulking corpse toppled to the ground; Chris's expert hand kept the nervous charger under control while her other hand guided her sword about for another blow.

"Lady Chris!"

She failed to even flick a glance in the direction that she was called from, her attention currently focused on the foe in front of her. The tri-pronged spear lanced toward her only to be blocked by her own blade, the locked weapons sliding to the hilt as both wielders attempted to gain leverage. Frosted lavender met blazing yellow with equal fury. 

She may have been the White Hero, and her opponent nothing more than a young warrior, but both were aware that Lizard Clan members were naturally stronger and sturdier than humans. Chris could see that awareness in his murderous gaze, the slit pupils glinting with a hint of victory amid the burning rage.

His presumption was irritating.

Hidden underneath a finely crafted gauntlet, the Phoenix rune embedded in her left hand pulsed. With a wordless grunt of exertion Chris forced her sword forward, sliding it cleanly between two of the barbed spurs and into her adversary's face. The lizard shrieked, forgetting all else to rear back from the sudden pain. His weapon shifted, the spearhead falling to one side as his right hand shot up to claw at the gouged socket.

Chris cut his suffering short with a merciful sweep of her sword, then glanced over her shoulder when the sound of approaching hoofbeats finally penetrated the chaotic din echoing off the sides of the canyon. 

"So much for offering my assistance…" Percival trailed off with a false sigh and a thin smirk, both pale imitations of his typically flippant gestures.

He was hardly alone, though his dark chestnut steed headed the tight pack. Salome and Leo rode close to his left and right flanks, respectively, while Roland reined his mount in at the rear. Louis was positioned in the heart of that small brigade: though he was trained in several, the squire had not yet mastered any weapon sufficiently enough that he was trusted to wield it in battle. Once the boy did choose which weapon he wished to claim for his own, he would be free to leave the watchful eye of the knights and take to the battlefield and kill or be killed in the name of Zexen.

Looking down at the young man standing surrounded by his superiors, Chris unwillingly remembered something else the Council had advised her.

Louis's training needed to be hastened, the merchants had declared, so that he could assume his place in the Six Mighty Knights of Zexen should a vacancy occur. 'Have Keeferson make his decision, be it blade or bow, and prepare him in the event…'

Shaking her head once, tightly bound silver tresses gleaming in the sunlight, Chris regarded the other four Zexen Knights and her squire with a frigid gaze.

"Let us bring an end to this, quickly," she commanded. "Have you received any word on where the Clan Chief may be…?"

"Looking for me, murderess?"

The deep-throated bellow carried clearly through the canyon, even over the continued clash of sword against spear. Chris did not flinch, though she glimpsed Louis's face paling and the other knights tensing as she brought her mount about. Her own shoulders stiffened at the harsh question despite herself, but there was no real judging her reaction from her neutral expression or her cold lavender eyes.

Dupa stood before the gaping maw of the tunnel leading to the Great Hollow. The newly crowned Chief of the Lizard Clan hefted his massive polearm easily in one hand, his free right raised before his chest, clawed thumb tucked into his palm while the middle of his three fingers curled upward in a mock 'come hither' motion.

"Care to finish what you started?" he challenged, tone dripping with malice.

"……" Chris met his furious glare with icy detachment, then nodded once and reined her white charger in. "…Fine then."

"Lady Chris…" Louis began worriedly, only to be silenced by a cool sideways glance from his commander.

"On my honor as a knight, none of you shall interfere. Do you understand?"

Her order was not meant merely for the squire, and the quartet of knights nodded in careful deference to their captain. However, Chris noted even as she dismounted and readied her blade how Roland's slender fingers caressed the shaft of an arrow, how Percival's hand rested on the pommel of his sheathed sword and Leo fingered the shaft of his axe. Even Salome kept his mace close at hand, his brow drawing tight with lines of concern.

They would not dare defy her command unless it became absolutely clear that her life depended on their intervention. Of this Chris was certain.

She could see Dupa understood this as well, but the knowledge did nothing to dampen the fierce glitter of his slit golden eyes. Several Lizard Clan warriors had already gathered close behind, yellowed gazes burning with the same hatred. They would attack only if the circumstances dictated it.

There were few Karayan fighters around, Chris abruptly comprehended, despite reports that insisted the majority of the survivors had retreated to the caves with their reptilian co-conspirators. The realization surprised her: were they all so injured that only a handful were in fair enough condition to battle? Or perhaps they were in hiding, setting up a trap or preparing some back-up plan…?

"Disappointed that not many 'barbarians' are here for you to slay today?" Dupa questioned, almost as if he somehow sensed the path her thoughts treaded. "Sorry, but the ones you slaughtered at Karaya will have to tide you over, Silver Maiden."

He sneered the familiar title with such vehemence that it seemed more a wicked slur than a noble sobriquet. Chris herself held no love for the handle, but to hear it used so bitterly by this lizard savage was all the impetus she needed to lead off this duel.

Leading with her blade she sprang forward, the movement appearing so fluid and graceful that it defied the lunge it essentially was. Dupa's visage split with a fang-bearing grin as he brought down his pike to meet her charge. The blades met, glanced off each other with a clarion ring, and fell back with no clear victor.

Now both captain and chief were moving, taking slow, measured paces around the loose ring developing around them. Though the fighting continued unabated near the front of the canyon, here in front of the gates others were breaking off combat as they became aware of the clash between leaders. Here, they sensed, was where this day's conflict would be decided.

Both tested their opponent carefully, feeling out the other's reactions to their feints and jabs. The triple-pronged blade of his halberd swept past her left side in a clean arc; her sword lanced out to pierce the air where seconds ago his chest had been. Each strike came a bit closer to the mark, each dodge a bit narrower than the last.

"Interesting, Ice Queen…" Dupa almost purred, his words more a rumble from his chest than anything. "Who would have thought a Zexen was capable of matching their opponent face-to-face?"

"After your actions at the treatise, I'd say you're jealous," returned Chris coldly as she accented her verbal jab with a stab attempt.

"Ha!" Dupa barked a laugh and parried her strike with the same breath. "My actions hardly matched your acting. That cold front serves you well."

(What do you mean?) For once, Chris allowed her expression to accurately convey her thoughts, shooting the reptilian warrior a quizzical look while bringing her arm about in a rapid arc.

(Don't play dumb.) Blade met shaft and slid screeching along it, Dupa meeting her questioning gaze with a burning glare over the locked weapons. (There's no need for acting now, ironhead chief.)

"Arrogant woman, revealing yourself to Shiba while luring us away from the den." His hiss was low enough that it grated on her ears alone. "You may have been only the distraction, but no matter which of your soldiers slew Zepon, I say it falls on your head as surely as if you were the one to flay him alive yourself!"

(What…?!)

It could scarcely be called faltering, for she continued to push her blade against his with all her strength, but, in that moment, the Silver Maiden's concentration was briefly disrupted by the unexpected accusation.

Dupa utilized her distraction. He may not have seen it coming by any means, but the chieftain was a seasoned warrior, and his instincts guided his gride from its lock and upward.

Chris's instincts saved her as well, her body pulling backward even before the tri-pronged blade swung up and out. What would have been a decisive blow otherwise was reduced to a bare miss.

But even the Silver Maiden couldn't escape such a strike completely uninjured.

To her credit, Chris swallowed the hiss that bubbled in her throat with the sudden pain, the center edge of the gride grazing her turned forehead. She forced her legs, already stumbling backward, to steady even while continuing to move away. Gripping her sword with her dominant hand, she allowed her left to rise and cover her face.

Behind her Louis cried out, a strange, choked noise that sounded vaguely like it was intended to be her name but refused to come out properly. The rest of her entourage immediately surrounded here even as she crouched on the ground. Leo bellowed a curse that rang unpleasantly in her ears, drowning out the whisper of a bowstring being drawn taut; Percival and Salome knelt on either side and gently pried her hands away from her face.

The metal-clad fingers came away speckled with blood. A thin trickle of the warm liquid cut a scarlet river down the center of her face, diverted by the bridge of her nose and irritating the corner of her left eye. Ignoring this, and the fresh tang touching her mouth as the trickle reached her lips, Chris favored Dupa with a frosty glare.

He did not press his advantage. Though his own blood sang with the desire to see more of the Silver Maiden's staining his gride, Dupa was aware his vengeance could only be pressed so far with the quartet of Mighty Zexen Knights in attendance. He met her stare with a smirk, golden eyes gleaming with pride as he straightened to his full height.

The Lizard warriors witnessing this echoed their leader's strong stance, their own eyes lighting with satisfaction. The lower-ranked Zexen soldiers were already falling back, realizing the battle before Great Hollow was no longer a contest they could win. They took cold comfort in the knowledge that they left plenty of lizards lining the canyon floor, yet that was tempered by the wounded and dead many dragged after them in their hasty retreat.

"Snake," snarled Leo, still hefting his axe while Salome and Percival helped Chris to her feet and onto her steed.

"Butcher," returned Shiba coolly from where he stood to Dupa's left. The squat reptilian warrior gripped his own pike in a fashion that telegraphed his fervent desire to shed another knight's blood if given half the chance.

"This is the second time you have attempted to slay our Chief, Silver Maiden," Bazba intoned in a calm, even voice, yellow gaze boring into the knights. "Return again and you will die in the same manner you had Zepon butchered."

"Listen, you--!"

"Leo!" hissed Percival sharply, eyeing the hungry faces of the lizards.

"Know this…"

Chris steadied herself in her saddle and met Dupa's gaze. Somehow she managed to retain the bearing and nobility that had been drilled into her as a knight, the impassive marble front returning despite the fact that her chiseled white face was marred by a single seam of crimson running down over the inside of one delicate cheek.

"I am Chris Lightfellow of the Six Mighty Zexen Knights…" she tugged the reins of her nervous steed slightly and turned the charger's snowy head away, "…not the Silver Maiden."

"You are a murderer," returned Dupa, matching her cold tone perfectly despite the deeper timbre of his voice. "Nothing more."

Chris's face remained hard as stone as she led the knights away from the entrance to the Great Hollow, leading her unit out of the canyon. The lizards glared after them until the knights had long turned past one of the high stone walls and rode from view.

"Should we have let her live?" Shiba was the one to break the silence by asking the question weighing on the minds of his companions.

"A leader's death always galvanizes those who followed them," Bazba replied evenly. "Had she died here, in full view of those most loyal to her, we would probably have been quick to follow -- and, after us, those waiting inside. Zexens have no mercy for the weak and helpless; the ashes of Karaya are proof enough of that."

"Ah…"

"Leave it be for now, Shiba." Dupa gazed steadfastly into the canyon. "We witnessed the vaunted Silver Maiden shed the closest thing to tears she's ever had. For now, that can be enough…"

Shiba shot his leader a questioning glance, then, slowly, some form of understanding dawned on his face. He lowered his gaze to the ground, scaled brow knitting together as he pondered this comment. Then, sharply, snapped his neck to the left as a strange clamor arrested his attention and that of his comrades.

"Finally, out of that horrid tunnel--! Only zombies could have lasted much longer in there…!" a haughty, distinctly feminine voice declared.

"If that man hadn't left when he did, zombies would have been better off than us," a male voice muttered, its owner clearly not intending the low undertone to carry quite so well off the canyon walls.

"Oh, shut up!" and the woman's voice rose till it bordered on shrill. "Some bodyguards you lot are…!"

"Excuse me," a second male and much more sarcastic voice interjected, "but who was the one who wanted to challenge those strangers in the first place…!"

"Well, I told you they were evil, and they proved it!"

"And nearly cost Melville his leg and Reed his heart!" another female voice, this one a bit higher-pitched than the first -- though the fact she'd raised her voice to try and match the first probably didn't help. "If he'd stabbed a bit higher…"

"…I…I'm fine, milady…" came the weak insistence of a man who certainly didn't sound fine.

"Since we're out, the Great Hollow can't be far," another male, and this was the youngest-sounding of the lot despite the logic in his words. "The lizards will help, right…?"

"They'd better…"

"That depends," Dupa interjected smoothly, as he, Bazba and Shiba chose that moment to step round the corner and confront the owners of the voices. "What is your business with the Lizard Clan…?"

The person at the forefront of the group gave a small gasp of surprise and stepped back, giving the trio of reptiles a startled look. A young human woman, Dupa noted silently, giving the red-haired girl a cursory once-over before turning to take in the others. A pair of men in matching attire were supporting each other, although the slightly taller blonde seemed to be getting more support than he was giving. A Duck Clan warrior helped a young lad keep one leg off the ground; it didn't take a genius to figure out why thanks to the massive tear stretching up the side of his pants. The last of the group was a Karayan girl who couldn't be more than sixteen, and she looked just as exhausted as the rest of her unusual group.

"Refugees from Karaya?" It wasn't really a question with the way Bazba posed it.

"Well, n…" the redhead began.

"Yes," the haggard-looking mallard cut her short with a curt nod. "We ran into some more trouble on the way here. We can exchange stories once we've gotten our wounds treated; a couple of us got off worse than others…"

"I can see that," Dupa agreed, nodding slowly in return. Glancing quickly back at his followers, he instructed, "See to it that they receive treatment right away. I'm eager to hear your story, Mister…"

"Jordi. Sergeant Jordi of the Duck Clan."

"Sergeant Jordi, then," repeated Dupa. "This way…"

Bazba and Shiba stepped forward, the former allowing the two men to lean against his broad sides while the latter gently picked the boy up so that he didn't have to worry about walking on his leg. Dupa turned and walked inside with Jordi close behind, the mallard using his halberd for support. Aila followed at the sergeant's heels, leaving the last of their group, the impetuous redhead, to stand and fume for a bit before following them toward the Great Hollow.

"There had better be some decent rooms here," Lilly muttered under her breath. "I need a nice, soft bed and a bath…!"

Hearing her complaints, Shiba rolled his eyes and sighed. Just what they needed, more unsatisfied guests…


	17. Hollow Reception

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

~ * Hollow Reception * ~

Who would have thought a lizard's hands could be so gentle?

Melville craned his neck in an attempt to study the back of his leg, but couldn't twist enough to get a good look at the newly mended limb. The rip in his pants had been sown up, anyway, a fresh patch of leather stitched over the place where his attacker's blade had ripped through fabric and flesh…

The lad grimaced, remembering how soundly he and his traveling companions had been defeated. The fight -- if you could really call it that -- couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, and Melville had spent nearly all of it lying in agony on the cold stone floor, gripping his wounded leg and biting his lip to stifle the scream bulging in his throat.

Somehow, despite their injuries, the group had picked themselves up and limped the rest of the way. The Sergeant's healing magic had gone a long way to ensure their survival, but the denizens of the tunnel had nearly wiped their weakened party out. The monsters hadn't been more than a nuisance before, even for the young Saint Loa Knight. But after that disastrous encounter, they seemed more menacing, the threat they posed more real.

They could have died down there. Melville recognized that now, and the thought formed a knot deep in the pit of his stomach despite the fact that he also recognized they had made it out safely.

Thanks to the Lizard Clan's kindness, his injury was now little more than a memory, the wound sealed away by the soothing caress of a magical breeze. The limb that earlier had been sending wrenching pain up his side now supported his weight just as readily as the other, a phenomenon that he couldn't resist testing by rocking back and forth on his heels for a few seconds. Soon becoming bored with this task, Melville turned his attention back to the grotto he now stood in, his curious tan eyes drinking in more details now that they were better accustomed to the sparser lighting.

Tales of the barbarous lives the less civilized Grassland Clans led had enabled his imagination to weave mental pictures of what such dwellings looked like, and at first it appeared his youthful daydreams were not far off the mark. The cavern was very meagerly decorated, a heap of straw with thick blankets strewn over it serving as his bed. There were a few recesses that appeared to be hand-carved, strategically placed so that by lighting torches mounted inside the natural room could be brightened.

He was alone for the moment: everyone else was occupied elsewhere, leaving the youngest of their number behind as they attended to their own business.

Reed, injured the worst during their encounter, was still being treated in another room. There had been whispers among the adults concerning his condition, but all the details were being kept from the lad out of 'respect' for his youth. That was why he'd been hustled into this bedroom in the first place, shooed out from underfoot while the lizards set about attending to their most gravely wounded guest.

Sergeant Jordi was more fortunate. Though the mallard had also been stabbed, somehow his wound hadn't turned out to be as dire. Apparently it wasn't as deep, or hadn't been torn so badly… again, Melville didn't know because nobody wanted the kid to be upset. They didn't understand that his inability to find out what was happening to his companions was much more distressing to the young knight.

Since their reptilian hosts recognized the sergeant's clan and rank, Jordi had emerged in the Lizard Clan's eyes as their group's leader. Dupa had therefore requested an audience with him as soon as it was clear he was healthy enough to speak with the chieftain, and Melville figured that he was probably busy with that at the moment.

Naturally, Lilly hadn't taken her overshadowing by her guide's title very well, and after a while the expected tirade faded into the echo of the Tinto noblewoman storming away. Samus was likely to be shadowing her, ensuring her fury didn't get them into more trouble than the sergeant could talk them out of.

As for Aila, the huntress ran off as soon as they entered the Great Hollow, charging over to the first cluster of Karayans she glimpsed in the massive grotto. The last Melville had seen of her as he was being hustled away to have his wounds treated was the back of her curly ponytail bobbing up and down while the rest of her was engulfed by the embraces of old friends thought lost in the flames. The echo of their relieved cries and shrieks seemed to follow his group down to the infirmary.

The knot in his stomach tightened, though Melville couldn't explain exactly why. He was thrilled, of course, that they'd found survivors; he never wanted to believe that everyone in the village had been slaughtered by the knights, but…

(…Why am I here again? I came to see Aila and Sergeant Joe back home safely, and…)

Now, looking back on what had happened after he followed them out of Vinay del Zexay, Melville wondered if he'd made the right choice.

It wasn't that he regretted his oath to his friends. As the Swordsman of Rage and commander of the Saint Loa Knights, it was important that he value honor and integrity above all else. He was indebted to them; without their assistance in the northern cavern, it was likely that Alanis, Elliot and he would have been defeated by Guillaume and his bandits.

Still… had his presence really changed anything for the better?

Karaya had burned. They hadn't arrived in time to prevent that disaster, and it was a small miracle that Aila hadn't gotten herself killed attacking the… Silver Maiden…

It wasn't like their situation had improved much afterward. That strange man in black they'd run into had nearly slaughtered them… and Melville hadn't managed to be of much help then, either.

And now that they'd found refugees from the village, what was left for him to do? He couldn't return to Vinay del Zexay; Sir Leo and Sir Percival were probably still looking for him, remembering the role he'd played in the Grasslanders' escape… And even if that calmed down soon, it was unlikely he'd be able to return in time to say goodbye to Alanis…

The thought of his own unit's Silver Maiden caused Melville to frown, dragging his brows down over his too-serious brown eyes. He didn't know exactly when her family was leaving, but it couldn't be more than a few days away… if they hadn't left already.

Did she and Elliot find that note he'd left behind? They'd likely gone to the clubhouse the morning after he left, only to find that piece of paper with a hasty explanation scribbled on it… Probably didn't take it too well, either. The young Fire mage was probably pretty upset that he'd gone off on a mission without taking her and Elliot along…

(No,) Melville cut off that line of thinking with a firm shake of his head. (It was right to help Aila and the Sergeant escape. It was the honorable course of action…)

Eager to distract his mind from such matters, Melville left the room and headed back toward the main grotto. The walk wasn't as far as he remembered, probably because he was no longer fighting just to stand on his own two feet, and soon the hallway widened into the towering cavern at the heart of the Great Hollow.

If his previous quarters were a fair approximation of his imagined version of the Lizard Clan's lair, the scene before him now illustrated how far off the mark his daydreams really had been.

They were still underground, but Melville found when he tilted his head back that he couldn't quite make out the ceiling that capped the massive cavern. The Great Hollow seemed basically a hollowed-out mountain, with plenty of space in this central chamber alone to house all of the naturally taller, bulkier members of the Lizard Clan.

In a way, it reminded the Zexen child of the capital city's Main Square, a more rugged approach to the plaza where he'd played so often with his friends. There was even a natural spring bubbling up in the center, trickling out of the stone staircase that seemed to be carved directly from the earth's slope, its waters bubbling just before the entrance to what appeared to be the Chief's quarters.

Melville followed the raised pathway slowly, resisting the urge to run and take in more of this strange underground city as quickly as possible. There were no railings along the raised walkways, he noticed; a misstep on his part could lead to disaster. It was better to take the time to adjust to his surroundings than to hurry along and pay the price for slipping.

"It must be a far cry from Vinay del Zexay, isn't it?"

Though the voice stating this was calm and unthreatening, Melville still jumped from surprise and whirled around to face the speaker, heart hammering in his chest. He relaxed only slightly when he found himself staring upward into the elongated face of one of the warriors who had met them at the entrance. One of the reptilian's hands caught the boy's shoulder, guiding him steadily away from the edge.

"Careful, now," he chided evenly. "I'm sure a fall from here would at least aggravate your wounds, if you didn't manage to split your head open. You humans are so frail…"

"Um… thanks…" stammered Melville, staring wide-eyed at the lizard, "…but, how…"

Though he couldn't judge for certain, Melville got the impression that Bazba smirked at his shocked expression.

"It's obvious you're not from one of the Clans," he responded before the boy could finish his query. "Your clothes aren't of Chisan make, which would be the only clan you'd be remotely likely to pass for. You're not Karayan, and definitely not from the Duck Clan, and you're dressed differently from even those other three strangers…"

"Oh, Miss Lilly and her friends say they're from Tinto," Melville blurted, latching onto the temporary distraction. The lizard's firm stare was more than a little unnerving, even to the leader of the Saint Loa Knights.

"Yes, I've already been informed of that," and Bazba grimaced slightly, recalling how the redhead had pounced on him for an explanation earlier. His head still throbbed from her shouting, and he made a mental note to repay her darker-skinned companion for prying her away long enough for him to make an escape.

His tone tipped the youngster off to the fact that the lizard had already gotten a demonstration of Lilly's… strong personality, and the expression on the reptilian's face actually caused him to laugh for a second. It soon tapered off, however, as Melville remembered how serious his situation was. Though the Lizard Clan warrior wasn't acting hostile just yet, he wasn't naïve enough not to recognize that knights weren't exactly revered in the Grasslands.

"…So, you're not a foreigner," Bazba returned to the point of their conversation, resuming his matter-of-fact explanation, "and your clothes seem a little too fine to be from one of the farming communities, so you must be from one of the cities…"

He trailed off and looked at Melville, an almost expectant gleam in his narrowed slit-pupil eyes. Melville shifted nervously under the lizard's firm stare: there was something rather unnerving about being pulled aside by a scaly clansman with claws on his fingers and a weapon that was even longer than his already impressive height. Not to mention the fact that the manner in which Bazba outlined his Zexen heritage made it sound like it was something to be ashamed of.

Drawing himself up, Melville lifted his chin and met the reptilian warrior's stare with what he hoped was a proud and noble bearing. It really didn't help his confidence much that he was dwarfed by Bazba, his brown-topped head roughly level with the lizard's muscular waist.

"I am Melville of Vinay del Zexay," he announced, trying his hardest to keep his tone level, low and strong, "the Captain and Swordsman of Rage of the Saint Loa Knights."

He took a measure of pride in how he managed to keep his voice from cracking as he forced out the familiar title. Though he wasn't familiar enough with lizard clan physiology to be certain, it appeared to him that the ridge over Bazba's left eye quirked upward, and he regarded the lad with a bemused expression.

"Really? The ironheads train their children this young?" he commented, more in an undertone to himself instead of addressing the boy. Then, in a more typical, almost amused tone he questioned, "And what business brings you here, young captain?"

"I came here with my… my friends and comrades, Sergeant Jordi of the Duck Clan and D… Aila of Karaya," Melville hid a flinch as he nearly referred to the archer by the title he'd originally given her. "They helped the Saint Loa Knights complete a mission before running into some… trouble… on their way out of the capital. I wanted to repay my debt to them, so I accompanied them out of the city, and then… well…"

Now Melville really struggled with his words, frantically casting about for some way to explain what followed their exodus from the capital. Thankfully, Bazba appeared to understand his hesitation: his blunt features seemed to soften slightly, and he clapped one scaled hand over the child's head, almost absently ruffling his already messy tan locks.

"…So long as you're okay, kid," he muttered, shaking his head. Turning away and hefting his gride with his free hand, Bazba glanced back down at the boy and added, "Just don't go around telling everyone that you're a Zexen ironhead, all right? After what happened, even someone your age could get into trouble if it got out that you're from there…"

His eyes narrowed distastefully at the concept, Bazba shook his head again and moved on, leaving the youth to his own devices. The child hardly seemed a threat to him, but the reptilian fighter knew there were those in his clan who would think otherwise if they discovered his origin.

"…I know…" Melville murmured, watching the warrior walk away with an all-too-serious expression. "…You don't have to remind me."

Feeling distinctly more uncomfortable after receiving such a warning, Melville hurried off to look for his other companions. Hopefully joining any of the rest of his group would help him feel less like an outsider, less like an intruder…

~ * ~

"…We'll talk later, alright?"

Aila wished she didn't feel so guilty saying that. How many hours had she already spent catching up with the friends she'd found here so far? There was still a lot of ground to cover in the Great Hollow, and she probably needed to find the Sergeant and the rest of her group again anyway and figure out what else they could do…

Still, exchanging another round of quick hugs and handshakes with those bunched around her while making her way out of the cluster of refugees, Aila couldn't help but feel a flash of remorse at the thought of parting ways with them. It wasn't like she didn't know where they were, and that they'd still be around when she returned, if not exactly where she left them, then elsewhere in the Hollow, but…

…Hadn't she felt certain of that before, when she'd left Karaya for the Zexen capital…?

…No, things were different this time, she was certain of it. Now everyone was aware of the danger, and better prepared to face it: hadn't the Great Hollow already repelled an assault just before they arrived? They were safe here… safer…

Aila waved back at her friends even while walking away, until the curve of the corridor blocked them from view. Turning to face the widening hallway ahead, the huntress blinked rapidly in order to clear the mistiness from her eyes before stepping into the largest cavern.

(I'm so glad Dachi's here, and Kino, and Anne, and Tsun, and…)

Mentally she continued to rattle off the names of those she'd been able to track down so far, trying her hardest not to think of the faces of the friends she hadn't found yet. She definitely didn't want to remember the familiar faces she'd seen back in the village ruins… the friends she'd buried… or that were still lost, somewhere…

She had to be strong! The losses hurt, but there was still hope, so long as she and the others survived… Karaya was not gone. The village might be, but her clan still lived…!

Aila lifted her chin slightly, clenching her jaw. The ironheads would pay for what they'd done; she'd make certain of it. One way or another, she'd teach them that Karaya wouldn't fall so easily to their trickery…

"…Aila?"

She spun around, emerald eyes widening at the familiar voice behind her. She'd already known, of course, from what her friends told her, but it was still an immeasurable relief to see her chief alive and well.

"Jimba…!" Despite her best effort, his name almost became a sob.

The Karayan Chief smiled, blue eyes twinkling at the sight of the huntress, and he stepped forward to welcome her to their temporary home. He clapped both hands over her shoulders and appraised her silently, as if ensuring she was truly safe and sound before him.

"It's good to see you here, Aila," he said at length, his expression somehow balancing pleasure and seriousness without difficulty. "When I heard that a Sergeant of the Duck Clan had arrived, I figured that Jordi had brought you here. I'm glad you made it back safely. After what happened at the treatise signing…"

"I know…" Aila dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed to meet her chieftain's eyes as she added, "…I'm sorry… I failed to…"

"…Aila, don't do this." Jimba shook his head and gently cupped the archer's chin with one hand, gently making her look up at him. "None of this is your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's me."

"B-but you couldn't have known… they'd pull such a dirty…"

"…Exactly. I never would have guessed it, so what makes you think you should have seen it coming?"

Aila blinked, taken aback by how Jimba had turned her words back on her so abruptly. Jimba never quite lost his smile, though he shook his head almost bitterly and his tone became a bit more serious as he insisted on her blamelessness.

"I'm sorry that you had to go through such an ordeal," he apologized, shaking his head slowly before she could interrupt. "I wish there'd been some way to tell you what happened, but when the peace treaty went out of hand, there was no way… I'm thankful you were able to find your way here."

"…It wasn't just the Sergeant who helped," Aila replied. "If it wasn't for Melville, we wouldn't have gotten out of Vinay del Zexay at all. Even Lilly and her group helped, a little…"

"Of course," and Jimba nodded. Patting Aila on the shoulder, he added, "Now, then, I'm afraid I have some things I need to discuss with Chief Dupa about what to do next. If you'll excuse me…"

Aila nodded, but as she watched her chief stride past the huntress couldn't help but feel a slight stab of envy. Things were moving on without her, it seemed, and she had to wonder what was left for her to accomplish.

(I delivered the message, for all the good it did… Now what am I supposed to do? Just wait here until they find some way to settle things…? …No! I want to help… I want to make the ironheads pay…)

~ * ~

"I don't _BELIEVE_ this!"

The aggravated screech echoed off the sloped walls of the natural hallway, punctuated by the frustrated stomp of finely made leather shoes against cool stone.

Samus valiantly resisted the urge to sigh and hang his head as he trudged after his fuming mistress. How many times had they crossed this way already…? He had lost interest in counting after the third or fourth time they passed the great fountain in the center of the main cave.

So far, their quest for more information on the Flame Champion had turned up next to nothing of importance. What little they did manage to gather were tidbits that were already well known, scanty pieces of rumors and speculation about the Grassland's hero that Lilly was quick to insist she already knew.

Samus wasn't entirely certain that they were even talking to different sources at times; the lizards all looked more or less the same to the attendant, though he didn't dare point this out to Lilly just yet. She was in a bad enough mood at the moment as it was, and Samus was hardly eager to give his employer's daughter half a reason to direct her anger at him.

(…Not that she _needs_ a reason most of the time…)

Several strides ahead of him, Lilly stopped walking, copper hair whipping about as she looked around sharply. To his relief, instead of zeroing in on one of the lizards milling about the massive structure, she turned smartly on her heel and headed for the fountain at the heart of the cavern. Samus hurried his pace slightly, heartening considerably when he saw her sit on the curved barrier at the edge of the natural pool. Finally, a chance for a little rest…!

She didn't look over to him when he approached; her body was turned so that she was facing the fountain, running the gloved fingers of her right hand across the clear surface of the water. Thankfully Lilly hadn't dunked her legs in the water: Samus had no idea what Lizard Clan customs were and didn't want to risk his lady crossing some line that clashed with what was considered proper in this strange land.

(Not that it wouldn't be the first time…)

After a moment's consideration, Samus sat down on the fountain's edge as well, keeping a respectable distance away from his mistress. It wasn't proper to sit directly beside her, but he was close enough that she wouldn't have to raise her voice too much to give him orders over the noise of the rushing water.

Experience taught him that his lady wasn't too predisposed to sitting around and relaxing for long periods of time… or, really, _any_ period of time. And, naturally, as one of her servants he was expected to follow her whims on a moment's notice, no matter how exhausting it was for him. He wasn't paid so well to rest, after all -- a concept that had been ruthlessly hammered in by the frenetic pace Lilly loved to set.

He could see why Gustaf was so desperate and hard-pressed to find bodyguards for his only daughter, now. When he'd first been offered the position and learned how much it paid, Samus had wondered why such a lucrative-sounding job was readily available. He'd already heard the rumors about the Pendragon lass, of course, but had figured that such tales were mostly exaggeration.

What kind of noblewoman would be so interested in risking life and limb on a daily basis, after all? Especially someone who possessed such luxury…

Well, now he knew the truth, and that those rumors paled in comparison to dealing with the genuine article. These past months had been utterly exhausting, and this latest obsession of Lilly's with the Flame Champion was the worst yet…! After this mess was finally resolved, Samus would have to seriously consider finding a new line of work…

"…There must be something…"

Blinking back to reality, Samus looked quickly over at Lilly, slightly amazed at the fact that he'd actually missed the fact that she was speaking. To his utter relief, she didn't appear to be addressing him: she was still glaring at her rippling reflection in the water, stirring the surface idly with one hand and muttering quietly, apparently to herself.

"…The Flame Champion has to be here… Why won't anyone tell me where he is? There must be a way to track him down…"

Regarding her out of the corner of his eye, Samus shook his head in silent dismay. Apparently she wasn't planning on dropping the matter anytime soon. …Not that he expected her to simply give up on this fool's quest, nice as that would have been.

From what he understood, it would take a couple of days before Reed would be considered healed enough to leave the Great Hollow. What remained to be seen was how long Lilly would be willing to suspend their hunt for the sake of her other attendant's health. Clearly it rankled the girl already, but hopefully not enough that she would consider abandoning the poor man for the sake of chasing down some flimsy lead on the Flame Champion's whereabouts.

…Why was this so important to Lilly, anyway? She never bothered explaining herself to her attendants… or anyone else, for that matter. They were just expected to go along with her impulses, hopefully keeping her from getting too far in over her head in the process of following her every whim…

"…Samus?"

That was not Lilly's voice, and Samus looked up to see Melville approaching them. He offered the child a smile and a seat, scooting over slightly to allow the lad to plop down on the ledge beside him. Lilly didn't even glance over when Melville sat down, her attention still reserved for her own private mutterings.

"…Something the matter, Melville?" If Lilly wasn't going to start a conversation for once, Samus wasn't going to be rude enough to ignore their new companion.

But his intentions fell flat this time, for Melville simply shook his head and stared at the floor, swinging his legs off the side of the rock barrier.

(…Well, fine.) Samus shrugged to himself and decided not to push the matter. Moments of peace were rare enough as it was without him jeopardizing them. Rather than question it, Samus chose to enjoy the relative silence of the moment. Who knew when the next one would roll around…

~ * ~

"…Jimba, if you don't mind my being frank… Are you absolutely certain about this?"

"Positive," replied Jimba with a curt nod. The Karayan Chief shifted in his seat so that he faced each of his companions equally, steel blue eyes filled with conviction as he stated, "According to the rumors that have been going around, there has been a lot of activity at this castle recently. I don't know all of the details, but there's been talk of recruitment, and people heading off to settle there…"

"Yes… Just yesterday, one of our blacksmiths said something about it," Dupa noted. "Peggi acted quite excited about it, actually… From what he said, apparently he was given a new hammer by the representative in return for agreeing to set up shop there…"

"Bribery?" commented Bazba, then shook his head at his own query, stating, "No, that doesn't sound right. Peggi never struck me as the type to accept that…"

"If what I've heard is true, this could be a cover for the Fire Bringer," Jimba reported. "They appear to be building up strength for something…"

"But why now, of all times?" Dupa frowned, tapping his tail off the ground thoughtfully. "Does it have something to do with Zexen's actions?"

"Hard to say at this point. That's why I want to send somebody to investigate," and here Jimba looked meaningfully at one of his companions. "Sergeant…?"

"I understand." Jordi smirked thinly, shaking his head. "Qua… I'll have to discuss it with Aila and the others, but somehow, I don't think we'll have to worry about any objections…"


	18. Faltering

__

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings. Sorry about the recent delay; slight case of writer's block…

~ * Faltering * ~

One loss should not have mattered so much.

It wasn't as if they suffered any major disadvantage. Zexen had been the one to take the battle directly to the lizards, after all. They had repulsed and reversed the traitorous assault during the peace treaty: the barbarians had paid for their treachery more dearly than the knights had, with the razing of Karaya.

With that victory, the council was better able to gloss over the losses their side had taken. Good men had died -- or come close to dying -- yet it paled in comparison to the blow they'd struck the Grasslanders.

Perhaps that was why their withdrawal from the Great Hollow stung so deeply; while there had been less serious injuries on their side, with more barbarians falling than soldiers, there was no major turnaround to wave in the faces of the public.

There were no prisoners taken, no especially powerful or well-known warriors killed… though there weren't exactly a great deal of Grasslanders recognized by the Zexens, anyway. The new chief of the Lizard Clan, Dupa, was already garnering a bit of a reputation, but that hardly helped matters, especially considering the circumstances under which he was developing that regard.

Shortly after the first soldiers returned to Brass Castle, word began to spread of how the battle turned out. By the time Chris and her fellows rode through the gates, the fortress town was already buzzing over her duel.

All the same, few citizens were prepared for the sight of blood marring their Silver Maiden's marble visage. Though the gash had been healed, there was no concealing the droplets of blood that remained in her platinum braids, evidence that refused to be washed away.

This was partly because Chris refused the offers of her knights to cast a spell on her wound. Better to spend their magic treating those who were more gravely injured, she declared coldly: hers was only a scratch, far from life-threatening, and there were many others who would benefit more from Percival or Salome's Water Runes.

What else could they do but obey? Their captain used regular medicine to treat her gash instead, ignoring that the salve might mend the skin, but wouldn't wash away other evidence of her injury.

She held her head up when they rode through the gates, tall and proud in the saddle of her snow-white charger, face cool and composed. She offered no acknowledgement of her injury, paid no heed to how the people stared as she passed by, frigid lavender gaze fixated on the gates to the main fortress.

After all, she was the White Hero, unfazed by whatever adversity she happened to face.

But the commoners, generally lacking such icy fronts to hide behind, whispered and murmured among themselves, worried and wondered.

Their beloved Silver Maiden had been defeated. She had stumbled, bled.

Living legends were not supposed to be vulnerable. They were untouchable, unassailable.

Chris Lightfellow was not supposed to get hurt.

Now, in the privacy of her own chambers, Chris found herself studying her reflection in the mirror. Sunlight poured through the open window, a deceptively light morning breeze wafting inside, doing little to relieve the stifling atmosphere.

Another day, and by all appearances the ill-fated skirmish with the Lizard Clan had done nothing to offset her balance. Her armor was neatly polished, her attire fresh and clean, sword already buckled at her side. Not a single strand of hair appeared out of place; once more her silver braids were neatly arranged, telltale scarlet specks long washed away.

If only it all were so simple.

Meeting her own gaze in the mirror, Chris silently gathered herself, bracing for the long day ahead. Much as she despised her repute as the Silver Maiden, she had to recognize, reluctantly, that it helped ease the minds of the people.

They were shaken enough by news of her loss in the duel. It was vital she keep up appearances, or else morale would only worsen. That was about the last thing she needed, on top of everything else…

Her lips tightened in a grimace as Chris recalled her defeat. She knew she was fortunate to escape with such a minor, if not inconsequential, injury: had she not dropped back when she did, the gride would have torn over her face instead of merely grazing her forehead. Dupa would have gladly killed her, and regardless of whether they lost the battle afterwards or not, the barbarians would have proclaimed him a hero…

…Just as the council had praised her for burning Karaya, despite the failure of the peace treaty and the loss of so many lives…?

The marble face hardened, lavender eyes narrowing slightly in distaste.

Strange, that the council hadn't summoned her back to Vinay del Zexay yet. Chris had almost expected to be greeted by a messenger upon entering the fortress. Even now, she kept anticipating a knock on the door, a nervous request for her attention by some fidgety envoy sent to retrieve her…

Tap, tap, tap.

"Milady? Are you there?"

The visage in the mirror softened slightly, touched by relief at the simple fact that Chris recognized the voice. The female captain strode over to the door, unlatched it, and allowed the young man standing there to enter.

"Good morning, Louis," she greeted him, closing the door without taking her attention off her squire. Picking up on his nervousness, she suppressed a sigh and stated, "I suppose the Council has sent for me?"

"…Well, um, milady, not exactly…" faltered the lad, ruffling the back of his hair with one gloved hand. Chris's expression must have reflected some of her surprise, for he quickly forged on, "Sir Salome departed this morning for the capital, actually. He said he'll make the report and sort matters out…"

"What?"

Having to deal with the stuffy merchants was not a task Chris wished on anyone. While she felt a flash of relief at the knowledge that she wouldn't have to stand before the pompous committee and try to explain her loss in the duel, she guiltily smothered it, mortified by her own thoughts.

"He didn't have to…" she began.

"He insisted," Louis cut in, briefly flushing red upon belatedly realizing he had interrupted his superior.

"Oh?" Chris arched an eyebrow, fixing her squire with a bemused look. She wasn't angered by his speaking out of turn, rather, more interested in what he had to say. "Is that so?"

"Y-yes," nodded the lad. "He said that it was important that we take the time to recuperate after that battle, and prepare for the next one… though he didn't say when he thought we'd have to fight again."

From the look on his face Chris figured that Louis had asked that question of the tactician himself, and didn't know quite what to make of the answer. Salome was brilliant, but even he was incapable of predicting every challenge their army faced.

Such matters were left up to the Zexen Council, usually. The guild expected the soldiers to follow whatever orders were handed down, be it something so paltry as holding a parade or ambitious as assaulting an enemy's homeland.

Not to mention, of course, that nobody could have foreseen the betrayal at the treatise signing…

Pushing darker musings out of mind, Chris shook her head and returned her attention to her squire.

"Louis… Shall we go check on him, then?" she offered quietly.

"Y-yes!" he nodded immediately, understanding whom she meant.

For his benefit, she managed an almost-smile, a faint curve along the slope of her lips that didn't last more than a few seconds and failed to touch her eyes. Then, regaining her noble bearing, the Silver Maiden turned and opened the door, striding outside with head held high and attendant close behind her.

~ * ~

Ideally, a pair of frosted lavender panes would have greeted his aching eyes when they finally fluttered open, and a silky soft voice would inquire after his health.

…Actually, that was partly a lie. In truth, Borus would rather he was never put in this position at all. This was hardly the place for the fabled Swordsman of Rage, laid up in some cot courtesy of some savage's pet!

He had hardly been comatose since that wretched battle. The near-constant throb of pain kept him company, accompanying him into his dreams and sharpening whenever the effects of magic and medicine began to wear off. That ebb and flow at least made him aware that he still lived, though that was small comfort to the knight.

When he slept, he remembered.

Things came into better focus when he dreamed, better than they had been during the actual events. Initially, everything was in a fog; all he recalled clearly was receiving the order from Salome and splintering off from the group, looping around the back of the village.

It was easy to light a torch for himself: the Sword of Rage rune was, after all, good for more than simply heating up his blade. He remembered hefting the piece of kindling in his hand, watching the flames burst into existence.

It wasn't until he began dreaming that he recalled the grin that split his face as he studied the blaze.

A chorus of screams resided in his memory: the mortal shrieks of barbarians as he and his men descended, cutting down all that stood in his path. The righteously furious shouts of his soldiers, meting out justice in its purest form. His own voice, loudest in his own ears, partly drowning out all others as he spat out acid commands.

__

- burn them all make them pay barbarian scum die die DIE I'll kill them all every last one remember Myriam and Lanchet traitorous Grassies see what you've done this is what you deserve die DIE die you've earned this treatment with your BETRAYAL this is not my fault… -

And the nightmares always ended the same way: with the unholy apparition of a flaming bird hurtling toward him, with the screech of metal and animal rage and tearing of steel and flesh, and the pain that gripped his body newfold as he reemerged from the hellhole.

This time, when he forced his eyes open, he was greeted by the familiar visage of a spike-haired knight, the first feature that came into focus being the other's slight smirk.

"Ah, and Sleeping Beauty awakens!" announced his companion, a twinkle in his feline eyes. "How good of you to join again, milady! Will you be staying this time?"

Borus knew exactly how he wanted to reply -- in fact, several choice responses rose to mind -- but didn't quite have the energy to put the desired force into his words. Instead, he settled for glaring narrowly at the Swordsman of Gale.

Percival's smirk widened. Good, at least Borus was reacting to his prodding this time. Before, Redrum had shown little acknowledgement of his words, drifting in and out with little regard for those present.

"We'll have you up and about in no time!" he declared lightly, patting the side of the bed. "Why, I imagine you're already looking forward to a rematch with those Grasslanders…"

At the moment, Borus was far more interested in making Percival shut up. His incessant chattering, well intentioned as it might have been, succeeded primarily in making his head throb.

The dark-haired knight abruptly quieted, though the way his head turned sharply hinted that this pause was due to something more than mere silent prayers. Borus moved his head slightly, just enough that he was able to catch sight of his friend's profile. He saw Percival's eyes light up in welcome, lips spreading into a warm smile.

"Ah, Lady Chris," Percival rose to his feet. "Impeccable timing, milady; Borus just awoke…"

Instinct goaded Borus into action despite his weakened state; his spine all but screamed in agony as he sat upright, managing to hold that position for about two seconds before the resulting burst of pain along his back forced him to fold over. What started as a cry of her name became a hiss of desperately suppressed discomfort, descending into a coughing fit that left him clawing at the sheets.

"Hey, Borus…!"

Percival sounded genuinely concerned, and Borus felt the unmistakable sensation of his comrade's hands closing over his shoulders, gently guiding him back down to lay upon the cot again. There was none of the usual humor or sarcasm to be found in his tone now, though the Swordsman of Rage was hardly paying any attention.

"…Borus…"

No, his attention was entirely reserved for every word that happened to pass through _her_ lips. Even as he struggled to get his coughing fit under control, Borus gazed with blurring amber eyes in her direction, trying to read her expression -- a difficult enough task at times without the added hindrance of his fog-trimmed sight.

She stood a safe distance away, remaining near the closed door, while her squire hurried over to try and assist Percival in whatever small way he was able. Her immaculate hair and armor both gleamed silver in the sunlight streaming through the window; she might have been a statue wrought of marble and fine metals for how rigidly she stayed in place.

His eyes ached at the sight, and not simply due to her breathtaking beauty. Unable to bear it, Borus averted his eyes, instead focusing upon the much safer target of the ceiling directly above his bed.

"Hey, don't strain yourself, okay?" A hint of teasing returned to Percival's voice as he added, "After all, there's plenty of time for payback, right…?"

(Plenty of time for payback…)

The familiar sound of armor clanking as bodies shifted stance shortly interrupted the silence that followed that remark. Still Borus didn't turn back to face his visitors, not even when the voice he strained so hard to hear finally materialized, seeming too quiet, somehow.

"…I… am glad you are recovering, Borus. I'll leave you to rest now, I suppose…"

The shifting of weight and the click of a latch told him she was turning away, was already at the door. A part of him screamed he should move, ask her not to leave, tell her to stay with him, just a while longer… But that part was silenced by the protests of his aching muscles, his body rebelling against the notion of movement.

That was not all that kept him from trying, though it was certainly important.

The unseen door opened, and she was gone, the rapid tattoo of footsteps that followed signaling Louis's departure on her heels. A creak closer to where his head rested and the much slower, calmer steps that soon filled the silence confirmed his suspicions that the squire would not be the only one following after her.

"You heard what Lady Chris said; it's best you get plenty of sleep for now. We need you around more than ever…"

(I find that hard to believe,) thought the Swordsman of Rage bitterly. (I'm sure you're enjoying not having to worry about me…)

A muted click informed him without looking that Percival had shut and locked the door, leaving him alone with his harsh thoughts. Borus glared steadfastly at the ceiling, tracing grains in the woodwork until he had to close his eyes against the dull pounding growing in his head.

Behind closed eyelids, colors danced, breaking the monotony of darkness with flares of color, sunbursts of orange and red…

__

- red and brown and black and doesn't everything look better in red it suits the barbarians well don't you think I want to see them all broken I want to see them DEAD they all deserve it the MURDERERS they should all DIE yes for what they've done… -

Strange; it had seemed all so clear-cut to him then. With the flames growing ever brighter, the heat swelling around and inside, there had been no reason to hesitate or second-guess.

All that mattered then was vengeance.

And wasn't that still important, even now -- especially now, since he'd been nearly killed by that barbarian beast? So many good men were dead, and he'd nearly joined them…

…But somehow, he'd survived, and there were still so many killed, on both sides…

…What did that matter? Like he cared what happened to a bunch of Grassies! Nothing more than savages, the whole lot of them!

(…And woman, and children…)

…All barbarians, the whole stinking lot of them. A Grassie was a Grassie, no matter how old or young; their children grew up with daggers and bows for toys, training for when they, too, would be able to ride out and kill Zexens…

(…And how is that any different than the games young boys play in the streets of Vinay every day…?)

…There WAS a difference, though. Borus simply couldn't think of it in this state. He told himself this, and studiously ignored the twinges of pain in his gut that insisted otherwise.

…He was in the right. Revenge was a merciless art, but understandable, particularly under such circumstances.

Besides, that beast had nearly torn him apart! Surely his near-death experience was punishment enough for any overstepping of boundaries on his part -- if, indeed, he had crossed any while avenging his lost comrades.

Yet all his self-assurances rung hollow in the privacy of Borus's mind, a note of falsehood chiming in each word as, time and again, his circling thoughts returned to the memory of his lady's face, the indescribable emotion he'd seen etched faintly across her marble visage.

What _was_ it he'd seen -- or thought he'd seen in those gorgeous lavender eyes?

Pity? Sympathy? …Disappointment?

No; he had to remain convinced that he was in the right. He had merely been performing his duty to Zexen and to his captain, protecting those still fighting the traitors by creating the needed distraction. There was justice in how he'd acted…

(…Justice allows the slaughter of innocents now…?)

(No, not innocents; barbarians, savages. Their kin killed my fellows, so I killed them.)

Another twinge of pain accompanied the movement as Borus shielded the top half of his face with his forearm. He failed to so much as flinch, even as gradually the after-effects of his latest round of treatment began to wear off and the ache returned to his bones. He didn't acknowledge it, for his mind was elsewhere, wrestling within himself for the answer to one simple question:

(I was justified… wasn't I?)

Somehow, Borus was no longer completely convinced that the conclusion he would eventually reach would console him.

~ * ~

The gold-trimmed hem of her robe swayed in time with the sharp rhythm of each step forward. Soldiers and civilians alike fell silent as she passed, whatever conversations they might have been embroiled in moments before falling by the wayside, discarded in favor of more furtive whispers long after they judged she was safely out of hearing range.

Some misjudged the distance, yet the Silver Maiden did not react when she heard the murmuring begin in her wake. Her face remained impassive, her posture straight and proud, eyes fixed straight ahead on some imaginary target.

"Milady…" 

Louis fell into step behind her -- his initial dash to catch up might have been labeled 'scampering', except that was hardly a proper way for a squire to conduct himself -- and tried valiantly to mimic her demeanor, to act as if the doubtful whispers of the public had no effect on his self-esteem. But he was still unskilled at such deception. Chris watched him shoot a nervous glance at a trio of knights they passed when one of the men muttered something under his breath; she didn't need to catch all of it to comprehend that it was far from complimentary.

Well, what did she care? She despised being seen as the infallible White Hero anyway!

…Still, if there was dissention in the ranks…

"Louis, please go and prepare my horse for departure." Her voice was low and almost cold, and her attendant looked up curiously at the command.

"Yes, Lady Chris, but…" he faltered before asking the obvious question.

"To the capital." Was it really necessary for her to answer? No matter: she forged on anyway, gaze never wavering from the path ahead.

"Ah… But, Sir Salome is already…"

"I wish to speak to the Council myself. Is there anything wrong with that?"

She didn't need to look down at Louis to see how the young man blanched at her response, which had been a bit sharper than intended. He murmured assent and ducked away before she could apologize, scurrying off ahead.

Chris slowed her pace a fraction then, resisting the urge to rub her temples for just a moment. The day had barely begun, it seemed, and already a dull ache was forming behind her eyes, a tension headache that would hardly be soothed by rushing off to a meeting with the merchants.

But it wasn't fair that Salome should have to face their wrath, when she'd been the one to fall short of their expectations. Besides, she had several issues she wanted to raise with the board, problems she wished to address as soon as possible.

"…Are you alright, milady?" The soft inquiry to her health fell against the back of her ear, accompanied by the light caress of the Swordsman of Gale's breath. "You seem distracted…"

She turned stiffly to face him, pale eyes narrowing slightly, face still impassive.

"I'll be leaving shortly for Vinay," she offered by way of explanation. "Shouldn't you be watching after Borus?"

(Borus can take care of himself,) thought the darker-haired knight.

"I'll return there shortly; I only wanted to ensure you were well," he replied simply. "Are you certain you should be rushing off like this? Salome is handling the Council, and…"

"There are matters I want to discuss with them myself," she cut him off tersely. "Tell Borus I wish him a speedy recovery, and that I'll check up on him upon my return."

(Why not tell him that yourself, milady?)

"Of course," and Percival executed a half-bow towards her, folding one arm over his chest. "Swift journey, Lady Chris, and good luck with the Council."

(I'll certainly need that,) she mused acidly, mentally grimacing at the notion of the stern disapproval she would undoubtedly be facing.

"Thank you for that, Percival," she replied with a vague smile that didn't touch her eyes.

Then, both knights turned away and departed, the Swordsman of Gale heading back to check on his ailing partner while the Silver Maiden prepared to return home, each hiding their true feelings behind the carefully nurtured masks of stoicism and courtly demeanor.


	19. His Duty

The stars continue to burn as destiny is rewritten… See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings. You know, it's amazing what scrapping a chapter almost entirely and starting over from a different angle does to destroy writer's block…

-- His Duty --

The years of training had ingrained the procedure so completely into memory that there was almost no thought behind the actions anymore. He rose from slumber and immediately began strapping on his uniform, because that was the way he started each morning after he was old enough to handle weapons.

In truth, he was considered little more than a weapon by his superiors, more a tool than a human. For those fortunate enough to be born into the Holy Kingdom, all that hailed from other countries and continents were thought to be beneath their station. It was Harmonian birthright to be superior to most people, just as his heritage dictated that he was a third-class citizen… a fancy term for what amounted to slavery.

His only worth in their collective eyes was the talent that was even more firmly a part of him than his training… an ability his people possessed that even the highborn Harmonians did not.

He could control the Mantors.

It was a talent those above him often scorned, ridiculed and despised. 'So your kind bond with bugs,' they jeered, the basic sentiment behind their words always the same no matter how eloquently or bluntly they phrased it. 'How fitting; insects should always stick with insects…'

He refused to let their mockery unbalance him, keeping his reactions silenced behind grinding teeth and veiled glares. Their comments meant nothing, he assured himself, just the Harmonians' way of hiding the truth.

They were jealous, all of them, of a power they could never truly have for themselves.

Though he had bonded with his Mantor in the Crystal Valley, had gone through years of drills and exercises, it was not a talent that could be drilled into any soldier or slave. Only his tribe… only the people of Le Buque had the natural ability. Even the noblest bishops could never tame the race of intelligent arthropods; no amount of training or studying could bestow the gift unto someone who didn't share his clan's bloodline.

It was the only thing he possessed that had not been 'granted' to him by 'Harmonian mercy'. Even his name was Harmonian, bestowed upon him by some official rather than a tribal name chosen by his parents.

The ability to ride was the only shred of ancestral identity Franz had.

His Mantor partner was someone he had a chance to control, compared to how Harmonia dictated he should live. He had been the one to choose Ruby, rather than being paired up with the bug using a strict system: another aspect of his cultural heritage that couldn't be bent completely to their superiors' whim.

Practically all other facets of his lifestyle were managed by the Harmonians. Even the clothes he was buckling on now was provided by his commanders, a standard-issue uniform for all Le Buque soldiers.

The regulation jumpsuit was a dusky shade of gray, its makers more concerned with functionality and ease of movement than comfort. Over this fastened a thin breastplate, the forged metal shot through with lines of silver to break up the dark blue field. The colors symbolized his allegiance to Harmonia, the dreary hues illustrating the low standing of his kind in the Holy State.

Had he any real choice, he probably would have developed an intense hatred for the thing. The breastplate could get very uncomfortable at times, and the metal cuffs on his arms were tighter than he would have liked.

But, in truth, Franz cared little either way. At least they were able to use armor and weapons, even if they were in defense of the country that enslaved them; many third-class citizens could only dream of such treatment.

…There was always the slim hope that matters might improve. They were useful to Harmonia; they served a purpose other than cheap labor. They had worth! Maybe someday that would get more recognition, earn the respect they deserved…!

(…Why do we have to _earn_ their respect?)

The thought was immediately shoved to the back of his mind, just as he had learned to do with all similar notions. Such concepts were useless to consider, much as he privately agreed with them.

…No, he couldn't afford to agree. There was little he could do about his current lot in life, so to entertain such daydreams was not only a waste of time, but dangerous as well. He had to accept the way things were for now… and wait for a chance to change matters.

Not just for his sake, but for all of Le Buque as well.

-------

Shiff… rustle, rustle…

Though the sound came from some distance outside his chambers, it was still sufficiently loud enough to stir the sleeper. The young man instinctively turned his back in the direction of the noise, burrowing deeper into the warmth of his cot.

The rustling outside grew louder, but drew no further reaction from the figure bundled up in the bed. There was nothing further to be done other than wait for it to pass. At length, the clamor grew muted, moving away and allowing other, more familiar and unobtrusive sounds of the waking community to reach his ears.

Unfortunately, it left two niggling problems in its wake. One: his unwilling acknowledgement of the commotion meant he was partly awake, a section of his mind caught somewhere between vigilance and lethargy. The other…

"Get up, you slacker!"

…The other was that his partner was fully awake.

(…Damn.)

He tried lying perfectly still for a moment, aware the slightest movement would tip off his companion to his current not-quite-awake-but-not-zonked-either state. It didn't work.

"I know you're awake, brat, I can hear you breathing." Impatience made his voice harsher -- though the constant complaining made it seem like he was incapable of any other moods. "Get moving! You can't lie there all day!"

Grunting, the now more-awake-than-asleep man began fumbling along the side of his bed without raising his head from where it was planted. Throwing stuff wouldn't shut up his partner -- no, that was far more likely to make him get louder, bad idea… -- Instead, his blind groping sought out the pile of clothes he'd dropped there the previous night.

His companion was entirely unhelpful, grumbling and spitting insults from where he leaned against the doorframe. Familiarity enabled him to tune out the ranting now that he was more aware: he'd heard this all before, just another morning ritual.

At last his grasping fingers closed over fabric, and he grunted again while pushing upright, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. Clad only in a zebra-striped yellow shirt, his body showed the toning of a fighter, already marked in a couple of places by lighter lines of not fully healed scar tissue. Bleary amber eyes blinked hazily at the article of clothing held out before him, still foggy mind taking a few seconds to process that, yes, these indeed were his pants.

A strange noise that most closely resembled somebody clearing their throat caused him to snap his head up and gaze intently at his companion. Clarity returned to his narrowed eyes, so swiftly it was like the golden lenses had never been clouded at all.

"Gods, cover up, will you?!"

Pause. The warrior bowed his head, both in partly mocking deference toward the speaker and to hide the faint smirk that played briefly over his sharp features. Without a word he shook his pants once to ensure nothing had crawled inside during the night, then pulled them on.

His partner muttered something unintelligible but undoubtedly insulting. The comment went ignored by the youth as he continued the ritual, giving each article a good shake before strapping it into place. A short leather jacket dyed dark saffron was shrugged on, fixing the sole clasp at the collar before adding the much thicker chestguard and metal breastplate. The padded black gloves had the fingers cut off out of necessity: it was the only way he could hope to manipulate more delicate objects while he had them on.

"…and if we stay here much longer, that wench will just add another day's expenses onto your tab, and we both know…"

"I know, I know." That last comment registered despite his efforts to block the other's constant complaining off, though his face remained impassive. He stood and stepped into his boots, bending over to give the stiff leather a few sharp tugs into place, not even bothering to look over to his companion as he responded, "Don't worry, I'll handle it."

"Feh. You're just as bad as the bear sometimes…"

That caused another near-smirk to tug at one corner of the warrior's mouth. Little remarks like that allowed him to briefly acknowledge certain suspicions that danced in the darker corners of his mind. Occasionally he wondered if this gigantic responsibility he'd been handed wasn't the noble act of trust or honor he'd originally thought it to be than simply a shifty dodge, 'passing the potch', as it were…

He shook his head quickly, absently running a hand over his spiky crop of bronze locks while pushing the notion back into the shadows where it belonged. Nothing to be done about it now, either way: he still intended to make the most of matters regardless of the truth behind things.

"I'll handle it," he said simply, striding toward the doorway.

As his fingers closed round the ebony handle of the massive sword, the intricately crafted visage that dominated the silver hilt distorted into a grimace.

"Wonderful. How many times have I heard _THAT_ before…?"

(Not half as much as I've heard this same old tune,) the fighter thought, but he didn't offer that or anything else in response to the weapon's bickering.

Instead, he merely hefted the impressive blade, reversed it, and slid it into the scabbard resting across his back. This had the unfortunate side effect of positioning the sword's hilt directly behind his ear, ensuring he'd hear every last mutter and quip from his partner, but he'd adjusted to this little problem.

Besides, not only was it easier on him physically to place the weapon's weight on his back, but it helped avoid incidents where his weapon's ranting drew unwanted attention. At least this way the blade was far more reasonable about keeping his voice low in public places… didn't shut him up completely, but that seemed like a lost cause.

Adjusting the straps on his breastplate, the swordsman considered his options. It was true he was running low on funds: as his partner had pointed out, there was barely enough potch in his satchel to cover the night's stay.

They could try some fundraising with the local monster population, but that was risky work alone: he had a few vials of medicine, but those wouldn't help if he was too wounded to apply them… Talking swords only worked as partners to a certain extent.

From what he'd heard around town the previous afternoon, however, he gathered that someone of importance had just arrived as well. Some 'Bishop' or other revered figure from the holy kingdom, here on some business that they just might need a few more hired hands with…

…At any rate, it certainly wouldn't hurt to try finding out more. Hunching his shoulders once to get the still-grumbling Star Dragon Sword on his back to settle its weight more comfortably, Edge opened the door and headed for the Inn's exit.

-------

Patrolling the boundaries of Le Buque typically gave Franz time to reflect. It wasn't that he didn't take defense of his homeland seriously; however, the village's unique layout provided enough of a natural deterrent to most would-be threats.

But, then, suspending practically the whole town off the sides of the canyon tended to put off pretty much all types of visitors.

It was understandable that outsiders were generally unnerved by the unique structure of Le Buque. After all, they lacked the advantage of flight. They didn't have mounts they trusted implicitly with their lives.

Ruby thrummed gently beneath him. The Mantor's multicolored wings were a blur at both edges of Franz's vision; he didn't have to turn his head to picture the way light caught and refracted in the translucent panes.

Outsiders simply didn't understand. How many times had he heard others commenting on how hideous the Mantors looked? Though he always took offense at such ignorance, at the same time, a small part of Franz couldn't help but pity them.

They couldn't possibly understand because they would never be able to experience this feeling. Such moments of bliss were reserved solely for his clan.

Franz tilted his head back, parting his lips just enough to taste the crisp mountain air. The wind tugged at his short-cropped hair, and he imagined he could almost feel its frustration at having so little to play with. If he let it grow out a bit more, the breeze could play with the ebony locks, setting them to dancing round his face.

…But, if he let it grow much longer than this, Harmonian law dictated that he must start wearing the bulky headgear most of his comrades currently sported. After all, they couldn't have their warriors struggling with stray strands getting into their eyes in the middle of a battle, could they…?

His mouth pressed into a thin line, the moment spoiled by the stray thought. Even up here, he remained bound by the rules set by unenlightened officials. Unable to fathom something they couldn't experience for themselves, they always found ways to ruin them instead.

Ruby hummed questionably, sensing the shift in his rider's mood. Franz shook his head and gently caressed the Mantor behind the crest of its horns, offering wordless solace.

"…Fra……!"

The constant buzz of wings half-drowned out his comrade's shout, but Franz caught the warning anyway. A swift glance to his right revealed the scout swooping closer, yelling something mostly lost to the winds and gesturing with his spear; a glance downward confirmed his suspicions.

Several people were approaching the canyon path leading up to Le Buque's front gates. Not a large band of travelers, from what he could tell from this distance; there appeared to be only a hand's count or so.

Their lack of numbers was far from comforting. Innocuous visitors such as traders from Caleria generally arrived in much larger parties. The mountains were infested with monsters, so it was common practice for merchants passing through the area to travel in droves.

Franz kept one hand pressed firmly against Ruby's crest, flashing a few rapid hand signals to the other riders. Wordlessly he gestured for the scout who had first spotted the intruders and another soldier hovering to his immediate left to follow him down to investigate: all others in the area should continue their patrols for now.

Three mounted riders should be enough to handle these new arrivals, he figured… whether they turned out to be friendly or not.

A shared nod between the trio, then they urged their mounts downward, swooping down to intercept their unexpected guests.

Franz studied the group during their descent. While his training demanded he never write anything off as unthreatening before having better knowledge of the situation, he couldn't help a bit of a mental sneer as he got a closer look at the intruders.

From what he could tell, this was a ragtag team of adventurers… _mercenaries_, his mind offered while taking in their appearance. The most striking thing he noticed was the surprising variety present in such a small band. There was nothing particularly unusual about any of the individual members; merely the fact they were together.

Their approach didn't go unnoticed; Franz would have been stunned if they had been missed, since the Mantors weren't precisely silent flyers. The travelers fell back accordingly, giving the riders ample room without trying to flee.

Following usual procedure, his two comrades fell in on either side, hovering just slightly behind Ruby. Franz straightened as best he could, glaring down his nose at the interlopers.

"Travelers, what business do you have in Le Buque?"

The six glanced at each other before a man in patchwork leathers stepped forward.

"Well, let's see…" A grin that was entirely too easy and friendly spread across the ruffian's face, and he began, "See, my friends and I are just passing through these parts looking for information, and we'd heard that…"

"You won't find anything here," Franz interrupted tersely. "I suggest you leave quickly. We don't have time to be fooling around with your kind…"

The meant-to-be-disarming smile faded from the man's face, replaced by a faint scowl.

"Hey, now…"

"Our business here is of no concern to you," interrupted one of his companions, stepping forward. "I suggest you return to your posts."

Ruby let out a low, threatening rumble; the other Mantors echoed the warning as their riders shifted their grip on their pikes. Franz narrowed his eyes, studying the new spokesman for the group. The man regarded him calmly with his single good eye, seemingly unfazed by the darkening moods of the guards.

The rest of his team was not quite so unaffected. The lone female was fingering the hilt of her sheathed blade; the ruffian who had spoken first palmed his sais. Another man clad in purple removed his hands from his pockets and cracked his knuckles, muttering something that caused the ruffian to shoot him a nasty look. At the rear of the group, a lithe blonde hefted a dangerous-looking crossbow that nearly dwarfed him, while a tan-skinned child beside him drew out a dagger.

The presence of the latter did little to throw Franz off. While he made a mental note to try and avoid seriously injuring the lad, defending his homeland against any threats ultimately took precedence over the wellbeing of any strange child.

…Besides, Harmonian law was no easier on children than any other potential threats. In light of that fact, perhaps death in battle would be preferable.

"Leave," he commanded, tone sharp and final. "We have more important matters to attend to than dealing with your kind, but…"

"That's a problem, because we're not leaving."

Franz's mouth hardened into a thin line. Ruby and the other Mantors buzzed angrily again, beady eyes glowing.

"Fine then." Signaling curtly to his comrades, he leveled the head of his spear in the one-eyed man's direction. "In accordance with Le Buque law, you and your party are being taken in for questioning. Turn over your weapons and other possessions and…"

"You're making a mistake." The dark-haired leader drew out his sword as he declared this, still collected and calm despite the worsening situation.

"Odd thing to hear from you," muttered one of the other guards under his breath.

Overhearing his comrade's remark, Franz almost smirked momentarily, but his face was stern as he moved his hand in silent signal. Feeling Ruby tense further under his fingers, knowing his sign was received, he took in a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Consider this your last warning; we won't hesitate to kill you if necessary to protect our land."

A sable eyebrow arched, the dark pupil beneath it shining with bemusement.

"…And since when was this your land?"

The detached fashion in which it was posed belied the implied insult. Despite himself -- despite recognizing how leading the knowing query was -- Franz bristled. It was a measure of control not to spit back some acerbic retort; instead he gripped his pike a bit harder and silently cut down the man's chances of surviving this skirmish.

A flick of his raised wrist was all the impetus needed for his comrades to spring from their seats, following Franz's own lead. Nailing the dismount perfectly, he dropped into a defensive stance, noting with grim amusement the surprise flickering over the faces of all but one of the intruders.

If they had time to consider, surely the brighter ones would come to realize why they chose to take to the ground. The high, narrow walls of the canyon made maneuvering in midair more trouble than it was worth, especially when faced with so few opponents. With their steeds blocking the way to Le Buque, their riders could easily corner and deal with these fools, without fear of anyone slipping past.

The only one who didn't appear to be taken off guard by this move was the apparent leader. His expression remained maddeningly composed as Franz closed the distance between them, parrying his first thrust with a smooth sweep of his own weapon. Though he fell back, it was just enough to deflect the force of the blow before countering with a swipe that whistled past the younger fighter's ear.

Meanwhile, the other riders had already picked out their marks and led off, forcing the woman and the ruffian who'd first addressed them back. The latter grinned nervously while catching the pole with both sais, just barely managing to arrest its progress forward.

"Seriously, can't we talk about this?!" he grated out. "You're gonna regret this once you figure out that…"

"Save the chatter for someone who cares, Ace!" spat the purple-clad member just before his fist met the cheek of the aggressor. As the soldier staggered back, he shook his head and added blithely, "If they exist…"

Too harried at the moment to think up a suitably biting retort, Ace settled for a swift glare at his partner before pressing the attack.

Behind them, Lulu finished chanting a call to the spirits and raised his dagger to the skies, letting the magical current ripple from the glowing rune on the back of his hand to the blade. Without waiting for the wisps of green-tinted energy to settle completely around the weapon he turned and lunged for the creep hounding Queen. Keeping his sights low, he darted in and slashed the soldier's leg, slicing through the deep canvas and drawing blood.

His victim screamed and stumbled, and a well-timed push from Queen sent the soldier sprawling. A bolt crashed against the blade of his weapon, knocking it from his loosened grasp. Queen leveled her sword at the hapless guard's throat, stepping onto his chest to keep him from rising, and flashed a smile at both child and marksman without taking her attention away from her fallen foe.

"You're lucky we're not really enemies," she remarked lightly. "We'd get in trouble for killing you, so just be a dear and stay put, hmm?"

Her comment had little effect on the man, who ignored the coy implications she was not so subtly piling on. He turned his face away, and when Queen followed his gaze her own eyes soon widened in comprehension.

"Get _down!_" she shouted, pivoting and tackling a startled Lulu to the ground.

A burst of white-hot energy sliced through the space where they had been standing, cleanly missing the flattened figure of their felled opponent. For Queen and Lulu it was a much narrower miss; searing heat spread across the swordswoman's back with its passing, and she ground her teeth together, sincerely grateful her clothes left little skin exposed to the blistering energy.

Jacques was not so lucky.

Though the marksman heard Queen's warning, and attempted to move out of the way, this time the weight and size of his weapon worked against him. The blast struck his side and sent the slender blonde flying into the canyon wall. His crossbow clattered to the ground, followed shortly by the stunned mercenary.

"Jacques--!"

Lulu's scream caught the others' attention, and Ace cast an alarmed glance over his shoulder. His opponent tried to take advantage of his distraction, only to find his spear caught again in the prongs of his sais. Growling through clenched teeth, Ace shoved him backwards, then reserved his weapon and followed with a punch to the jaw.

Then he was scrambling to get out of the way as another beam of searing heat arced in his direction. Skidding to a halt a safe distance away, he snapped his head around to see the Mantor who'd launched the attack cut off the blast.

Though Ace wasn't too familiar with the Mantor species, it hardly took an expert on the giant bugs to guess that the fact all three were tense and buzzing lowly wasn't a good sign.

"Hey, we need to do something 'bout them!" he called back to Joker, turning to see the older man glaring at the cluster of insects.

"Already on it," came the grunted response.

Tendrils of crimson energy curled and crackled around the magician's clenched fist, the Fire Rune embedded just underneath the tanned flesh responding to its wielder's will. The guard recovered from the blow to his jaw and started toward him, only to be met by Ace blocking his path. The ruffian smirked, cruelly, and brandished his sais again.

A short distance away, the other soldier stood and moved towards the other mercenaries. Queen interposed herself between the approaching grunt and Lulu, nodding sharply in the youth's direction.

"Lulu, go check on Jacques."

Lulu opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and nodded instead, turning and dashing over to where the marksman lay. He fumbled for his satchel as he ran, pulling out a vial of medicine right as he reached his partner's side. Helping the stunned blonde sit upright, he offered the healing draught with shaking hands.

Franz was only dimly aware of the battle's progress, too caught up in his face-off with Geddoe to notice. He'd heard the Mantors firing, and sensed Ruby was nearly charged for his own attack. It was tempting to give a signal and move, letting his partner take care of his opponent; pride kept him from doing just that.

This man had no right to judge or make such nasty comments concerning his homeland. Maybe it was true that Harmonia occupied the land, but they didn't own its people!

(…Just the right to treat them like slaves, to ship us around to their pleasing…)

Even while warding off his furious assault, his foe retained his cool demeanor. His single good eye seemed to bore into Franz, and he couldn't shake the lingering impression that this stranger could read more than just his moves. There was a glimmer of something resembling understanding in that black abyss -- something his enemy shouldn't have any right to, in Franz's own mind.

Fury fueled his relentless assault, but also made it a bit less effective. Time and again his spearpoint was turned aside, missing its mark in the stranger's chest.

What made it more maddening was how he failed to capitalize on the seeming ease with which he parried each of the younger warrior's attacks. He deflected most of the lunges, sidestepping the ones he couldn't stop, yet save for a few cuts along the thicker parts of his jumpsuit and a few new nicks in his armor Franz was unharmed.

For some reason, the sable-haired stranger refused to deal a crippling blow. He could have felled the guardsman with relative ease, yet chose not to.

…And Franz couldn't shake the feeling that this was deliberate, that his enemy wanted him to be aware of this.

Snarling, he brought his pike whistling down in a risky maneuver that forced his opponent to step backward, and raised his hand to signal his partner.

Suddenly the air behind him warmed, shooting to a blistering degree that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Though he was no expert, Franz had enough combat experience to recognize the telltale signs of an impending spell, even if he had no way of countering it.

The explosion was centered some distance away, but Franz was unfortunate enough to be caught at the very edge of its range. He pitched forward, unable to brace against the sheer force of the firestorm raging behind, his attempt to scream a warning rewarding him with a mouthful of dirt. For a few terrible seconds, the world was reduced to the roar of flames in his ears, the pain of his hitting the ground nothing compared to the sudden fear clutching at his heart.

"…R-R…" Choking, he spat out the grime and blood rising in his mouth and wrenched his head about, ignoring his shoulder's protests at the movement. "Ruby--!"

The Mantors lay where they had been blown aside by the explosion, a pile of twitching limbs and charred wings. From what Franz could see, there didn't appear to be any major damage done; the insects were hardy creatures, their carapaces able to withstand more punishment than a single high-level fire spell.

That knowledge didn't comfort Franz in the least. With a growl he moved to stand only to be greeted by a blade leveled at his neck.

"Stay down," came the quiet command.

He glared hotly up at his unaffected opponent. Fingers twitched against the dirt, itching for the spear lying just out of reach or any sort of weapon that he could bury in the one-eyed man's bare neck.

The sounds of combat had died out by then, and he heard the scuff of approaching footsteps long before any of the other invaders stepped into his line of vision. The female appeared first, eyeing Franz with a smirk playing along her lips.

"That takes care of all of them!" the ruffian announced brightly, coming up and clapping an arm across the swordswoman's shoulders. This earned him a glare until he removed the offending limb, moving to rub the back of his head instead. "Now, what're we gonna do with these guys…?"

"…We'll have to ask them," replied his captor, raising his head and inclining his chin slightly forward.

Blinking, Franz squirmed uncomfortably and looked back toward Le Buque, feeling his heart sink when he recognized the familiar designs of Harmonian armor. There wasn't even any relief at the thought that these intruders wouldn't reach the village unchallenged, for he couldn't ignore how unalarmed they appeared by this new obstacle.

The more heavily armed footsoldiers were preceded by a less familiar figure; Franz only knew who it was thanks to his recent arrival in Le Buque. The most striking thing about his appearance was the metallic mask he wore, shaped in the fierce likeness of a bird. Franz privately supposed that the features hidden behind that foreboding guise were just as plain and unremarkable as the rest of his drably colored attire.

"It seems we've found the source of the commotion," the masked man noted dispassionately. Taking in the scene with no sign of alarm, he turned shortly toward the dark-haired man and commented, "Though it appears you have the situation well in hand. You are…?"

The leader of the intruders stood silent for a moment, then sheathed his sword and straightened. He didn't give Franz the impression that his guard was down, however; instead, he almost seemed to be put further on edge as he regarded the reinforcements.

"…I am Geddoe, Captain of the Twelfth Unit of the Southern Frontier Defense Force. My team and I are here on orders to investigate matters concerning the Flame Champion and the Fire Bringer."

The masked man nodded in recognition, and Franz felt his blood turn to ice at the blunt announcement. Why hadn't the fool thought to mention that earlier?! It would have saved them all this trouble, and spared his comrades from this embarrassment…

"I see." The implacable golden gaze rested briefly on the fallen Franz. "It's safe to let them through."

"I didn't catch your name…"

"It wasn't offered." Concealed eyes fixed back upon Geddoe's inscrutable face. "I didn't request reinforcements, but you may stay in Le Buque as long as you wish, so long as you don't disobey my orders."

"…Of course, bishop."

With that issue apparently settled, the masked bishop nodded calmly at the mercenary captain, then turned and signaled wordlessly to the soldiers behind him. The guards saluted and diffused throughout the canyon, several marching past to take their posts at the base while others headed back to the village gates.

None bothered to offer assistance to the recovering riders or their Mantors. Franz shook his head to clear out the last of the fog, then found himself confronted by a leather-clad hand. With a barely restrained snarl, he lurched to his feet, deliberately ignoring his opponent's offer.

Geddoe took this refusal without comment, silently watching as the younger warrior stomped over to check on his mount. Then he turned to check on his team. Jacques was leaning heavily against Joker's shoulder, but seemed mostly recovered. At least he had regained enough strength to heft his crossbow, which rested once more across his back.

Still, there was no need for anyone to point out that they should seek out the local inn.

Knowing this, Geddoe turned and started up the path leading to Le Buque, fully aware the others would follow without being told.

Franz watched them leave, glowering over the crouching Ruby's folded wings. The injured Mantor rumbled, and he ran a calming hand along the ridges of his scorched carapace, hardly comforted by the lightness of his wounds.

Just because these mercenaries were on the same side, didn't mean he appreciated their presence. They were just someone else to be tolerated, much like the Harmonians. Like it or not, he couldn't deal with them without consequences…

So he settled for glaring, and silently promising to find some other way to take revenge on these interlopers.


End file.
